


Insights

by Aashlee_Elizabeth



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aashlee_Elizabeth, Angst and Humor, Baby Pictures, Birthday, Canon Het Relationship, Childhood Memories, Chocolate Wine, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Costumes, F/M, Family Relationships - Freeform, Genocide, Giant Spiders, Grayson Family, Grief/Mourning, Halloween, IDIC/Kol-ut-shan, Katra, Memorials, Paparazzi, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Public Relations, Pumpkins, Romance, Sarek and Amanda's Terran Wedding, Snowball Fight, Spock's Extended Family, Spock's Human Family, Teasing, Trick or Treating, charity - Freeform, lasagna, reconnecting, truffles - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 85,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aashlee_Elizabeth/pseuds/Aashlee_Elizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock reluctantly accepts an invitation in order to fulfill one of Amanda's greatest wishes. What will he learn as he gets to know the human side of his family? Spock, Uhura, the Grayson Family. Flashbacks of Sarek and Amanda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Let me say this now and forevermore: My stories are for entertainment purposes only. I do not own a stake in any of the Star Trek properties, therefore I do not profit (nor would I attempt to profit) from any of my unlicensed Star Trek-based works. In fact, let me encourage everyone to continue purchasing the movies and licensed materials through legal channels to help keep this franchise profitable!

 

* * *

 _Dedicated to_  
 _ **Barbara** , _  
_whose love, support, and life lessons_  
 _continue to guide her son  
_ _in her absence._

* * *

INSIGHTS

* * *

Nyota Uhura finished throwing the rest of her clothing into the drawers as she unpacked in her temporary quarters at a Starfleet facility in San Francisco. Her ship, the _Enterprise_ , was docked in orbit at the space station, undergoing refit and repairs after an unfortunate encounter with a gravity well near an asteroid belt. For the next month, all personnel would be spending time at various planet-side Starfleet facilities for debriefings, additional training, and a week or two of shoreleave.

Nyota hummed to herself, but a thought interrupted her song, and she turned to her significant other, who had helped bring her belongings down from the ship. "Spock, we have some shoreleave time off coming up. Have you thought about what you'd like to do?"

His focus shifted to somewhere outside the window. "I have a personal matter to which I must attend."

The last seven months had been full of personal matters for him since the destruction of his home world, the loss of his mother, and the resettlement of his father and Vulcan's remaining citizens. Piled on top of the stresses of his demanding schedule and duties, Nyota wondered how he managed to keep himself from succumbing to the pressure. He had been quieter than usual the last couple days in one of his more contemplative phases. During such times Nyota usually let him process his thoughts for as long as he needed until she sensed that he was ready to open up.

Her pleasant mood changed to one of concern. "What is it?"

"I need to fulfill…a request." He moved toward her until he stood in front of her. "You met my aunt at Mother's memorial service."

"Yes, Margaret, right?"

He nodded. "My mother often expressed a desire for Margaret and me to acquaint ourselves to a greater degree. Margaret reminded me of those wishes at the service and repeatedly has done so since. I wish to fulfill this obligation at the earliest opportunity, and we have available leave in—"

"—in a couple weeks," Nyota finished.

Before the memorial service in San Francisco, Spock had last seen Margaret Grayson was when he was 8 years old. During his and his mother's visit to Earth, they had stayed with Margaret and her family. Overall it had been a pleasant stay, though many aspects of his mother's family and Earth culture perplexed him then. Only now, after some reflection and years spent observing Earth's citizens, did he understand many of the behaviors and interactions he saw then.

In his observations, he noted many similarities between Margaret and his mother, both as younger women and as they matured. They were similar in appearance, although Margaret was 5 centimeters taller. Their easy, engaging manner often created an immediate rapport with friends, family, and strangers alike. Most who met Margaret and Amanda liked them instantly.

But it was their nearly identical vocal qualities and cadences that Spock found disturbing as he grieved Amanda's loss. When Margaret spoke at the memorial service, Spock heard his mother's voice. His considerable linguistics experience sensitized him to the familiar inflections and tones as Margaret recalled to all those gathered his mother's warmth, talents, contributions, and the enormous love she had for her friends and family. Although Margaret had undoubtedly brought comfort to many of the mourners, she unintentionally had made the day more difficult for him.

Twice during Margaret's eulogy, Spock wavered on the edge of an emotional display, fighting to suppress those feelings—hard—before they emerged. Only Nyota, who had refused to leave his side that day, truly sensed the threat that his tumultuous, angry human side posed to his control. To all others, he appeared inscrutably Vulcan.

Vulcan inscrutability was one of the reasons Margaret and Amanda had remained so close despite the distance between their worlds. Vulcans made poor confidantes when it came to emotional personal matters. Other than Sarek (or Spock, as he got older), the only person in whom Amanda could confide her greatest concerns, frustrations, or even joys was Margaret. Too, because it was not prudent to share many personal details of her prominent husband or household with the few human friends she had made with Terran embassy personnel, Margaret became Amanda's sounding board.

Despite the closeness Margaret shared with his mother, Spock never developed anything other than a cursory relationship with his aunt and her family. There were the physical distances and cultural differences that made interaction difficult. For his mother and his aunt, busy diplomatic schedules, careers, the expense, and the demands of raising children on two different worlds made arranging frequent visits between their families impossible. Although Sarek and Amanda visited occasionally when Sarek's duties brought him to Earth, Spock was left behind on Vulcan in the care of relatives or household staff to continue his studies uninterrupted.

To Spock, his family on Earth remained more of an abstraction. Nor did he have close relationships with his extended family on Vulcan, so the idea of familial closeness outside his own household, other than formal alliances between members of a House, was foreign to him.

Amanda had on occasion expressed regret for this situation. Clearly she expressed this regret to her sister more often and in greater detail because, with Amanda's passing, Margaret took up her sister's cause with renewed vigor, but with the same persistent gentleness that Spock knew in his mother. Every month since the memorial service, she had reissued her invitation to visit her as well as _their_ extended family.

" _Spock_ ," Margaret said in her latest of six recorded messages to him, " _we cannot predict what life will bring. Procrastination is a risk. We both know that now more than ever. Amanda wanted this._ "

Repeatedly he had resisted accepting. But he could not dispute her logic, nor could he determine a diplomatic way to continue to refuse. Despite the awkward prospect of visiting a woman he hardly knew, he informed Margaret of his upcoming shoreleave. Privately in his thoughts, borrowing a phrase from Nyota, he simply wanted to "get this over with."

Once he formally accepted Margaret's invitation to visit her during this upcoming shoreleave, Margaret acknowledged his acceptance warmly, then expanded her invitation to include Nyota. Spock was not sure if he should ask her to come along and was weighing the advantages and disadvantages when Nyota's voice snapped his mind from his thoughts.

"Spock, what do you mean by 'I wish to fulfill this _obligation_ '?" She said it directly, but tenderly, taking one of his hands in hers. "You are uncomfortable with this."

The way she could read the subtle moods and meanings behind his word choices never ceased to surprise or, on occasion, annoy him.

He said nothing. He was uncomfortable with the inevitable reminiscences that would make up much of the conversation. He did not want to answer personal questions about himself, his mother, or the destruction of his planet. He did not want pity or sympathy. He just wanted the peace that his human side refused to grant him.

Nyota knew better than to try and offer comforting phrases as she would have to a human, and she did not have to ask him why this visit could be difficult as he tried to maintain emotional equilibrium. Since the memorial service he remained unsettled, and she doubted that he was finding release in meditation. This visit might force him to find the release he needed in another, more human fashion, and, if so, she suspected that he might not be prepared for that.

"But you're still going … ?"

"Yes."

Nyota liked Margaret. She had been warm, consoling, and kind at the service. Even Sarek had sought her for conversation afterward, and the two had had a pleasant exchange. From a personality standpoint, there was no reason for Spock to avoid her.

But, as Nyota had learned in communications psychology classes, humans under extreme stress often behave opposite of their normal personalities, and Spock was at his most human when it came to this loss. Although outwardly he protested going, Nyota wondered if his human side was driving him to look for the answers he needed to return to his Vulcan center.

She brushed his forearm gently. "How can I help?"

Spock considered her question. Since becoming his teaching assistant at the Academy and throughout the course of their relationship, Nyota was often Spock's window into human practices and interactions. During his childhood visit with Margaret and her family, Amanda had taken on that role. Now grown and an Earth resident for several years, Spock could handle himself in Earth society in general, even if his nature preferred the predictability of Starfleet's environment of regulations and protocols that governed events and general interactions.

However, many customs and personal interactions still perplexed him. Grief had a way of making many interactions unpredictable, and these days Spock was unsure of his own logic where his mother was concerned.

He did not fight the fact that he also found Nyota's constant presence comforting, calming, and soothing.

"Accompany me, please," he said finally.

Nyota was relieved at and touched by his request. "Your aunt won't mind? I won't be intruding?" She did not want to cross boundaries, but she did not want to let Spock go alone.

"She amended her invitation to include you," he admitted, "after I accepted for myself."

 _Margaret Grayson must be a very perceptive woman_ , Nyota thought.

**-o0o-**

Margaret Grayson knocked on the door to the study and entered. "Allen, he accepted," she told her husband.

Allen Markham looked up from his monitor. "Who accepted what?"

Margaret sighed in frustration. "You cannot tell me that you don't know! What have I been trying to do for the last six months?"

"Spock finally accepted your invitation?"

"Yes, he did. And I told him to bring Nyota Uhura if he wished."

Allen's eyebrows rose high on his forehead, nearly touching his short, brown, graying hair. "Well, well, and Hell has frozen over. What on Earth could have changed his mind?"

Margaret lips turned upward into a satisfied smile. "I did, of course. Amanda always said that you had to be persistent. Like father, like son. Both stubborn."

Allen was amazed that his wife's tenacity had yielded results, especially with a Vulcan who seemed determined to keep to himself, even though he was family.

It was hard to think of Spock as his nephew. Upon meeting Spock at Amanda's memorial service, he thought that the warmth that was a trait in the Grayson family had been obliterated by Vulcan genes. Unlike the almost-shy 8-year-old boy he had met years ago, Spock The Man was distant, intimidating, cold. He was the consummate Starfleet officer, a reluctant hero, a stoic scientist, and more alien than Allen remembered. Yet, at his side the whole time was the lovely communications officer who quietly identified herself as his girlfriend. He could not fathom how the two of them made a relationship work.

A biomedical engineer, Allen called on his professional skills to help him analyze what he saw and decided that Spock was more complex than Sarek ever had been. But the circumstances of that day had been unusual, and it was difficult to read exactly who Spock was from their limited interactions.

"When does he arrive?" Allen asked.

"Wednesday, two and half weeks from now."

"I'll be sure to clear my social calendar," he said, just a little sarcastically. He was not sure what Margaret expected from his visit, and that frustrated him. She never gave him a straight answer.

Margaret frowned. "Allen!"

"Well, here's the million-credit question: Once he gets here, Margaret, what's going to happen? He doesn't seem like the talkative type. How many times did your sister cry and tell you how hard it was to get Spock or Sarek to talk when they decided to clam up? Are we all going to sit around and stare at one another for the week?"

Shocked into anger, Margaret's eyes flashed. "He's Amanda's son," she stated, a catch in her voice. "And we're going to do our best to get to know him. We are going to respect him. We are going to do what … what Amanda wanted!" Tears welled in Margaret's eyes. "I have no idea how we are going to do it, but I expect your support!"

Allen realized that he crossed the line, and he realized he made his remarks to cover his own apprehension about seeing Spock again. He really did not know how he was going to relate to him.

More important now, though, was Margaret. Amanda and Margaret had been very close, and Amanda's death had torn Margaret apart, leaving her feeling lost.

"I'm sorry," he said, rising from his chair. He walked to Margaret and embraced her in a comforting hug. "I know how much this meant to your sister. I know you miss her very, very much. I do, too."

Margaret sniffled into his chest, shaking as a sob overtook her.

Allen continued. "But is this more about Amanda, or more about you? Are you looking for a part of Amanda in him?" He worried that she was getting her hopes up, looking for something in Spock that he might not be able or willing to give her.

"I don't know!"

Allen stroked his wife's back, soothing her while wondering what she would find. Whatever it was, if there were something to find, he was confident she would find it. A portrait artist, Margaret's remarkable skills with her brush and ability to see the personalities in her subjects brought them to life, despite their two-dimensional renderings. Her talent made her much in demand, and her client list included many high-ranking Federation officials.

On the wall in their study was a small portrait that Margaret had painted during Amanda and Spock's visit those many years ago. As he held Margaret, Allen looked over her head and shoulder and studied it now. The mother and son clearly had a bond, each leaning toward the other, not quite touching, but inextricably part of one another. Pride emanated from the mother's warm eyes and subtle smile. The son's eyes were much like his mother's, despite being framed by upswept eyebrows, but in place of warmth there was intensity, yet a touch of shyness.

Allen noticed the portrait every time he sat in the study, but he had not really looked at it closely for many years, not until this moment. How long ago had that visit been? About 20 years ago, he thought. He remembered that it was a difficult time in Amanda's life, but he never knew what the issue was, as Margaret had refused to discuss it. The young Spock was quiet, never saying too much although he spoke Standard perfectly. Allen and Margaret's daughters, Alaina and Norah, then 10 and 12, did not know what to make of their cousin most of the time, but they did their best to include him in their activities, and the children seemed to get along.

Allen guided Margaret to the portrait. "I think you should look at this again. There is something there between the two of them, isn't there? I hadn't really noticed it before."

Margaret remembered painting her sister and nephew's images onto the canvas. Amanda had been sad for most of her visit except when her son was with her, and Margaret had chosen warm colors to represent Amanda's happiness and pride throughout the painting. Spock had remained expressionless most of the time, but he had been undeniably attached to his mother. Margaret positioned each subject with a slight lean toward the other, Spock's shoulders angled toward Amanda.

They wore Vulcan-style clothing, although Margaret omitted the head covering that Amanda often wore and, instead, let Amanda's long, dark tresses contrast with the bright blue of her robe. Spock wore a rust-colored, high-collared tunic with simple embroidered geometric shapes in gold and the same blue as his mother's garment.

Margaret had been most fascinated with Spock's eyes, and she spent a long time in choosing just the right shade of brown. The child also had long, dark eyelashes, which framed his eyes and made them simultaneously intense and innocent.

They were a beautiful pair, and Margaret felt a connection to them.

Margaret looked up to Allen, newly inspired. "I think I know what we're going to do."


	2. Ride From The Shuttleport

They arrived at the Mayo shuttleport in Rochester, Minnesota, North America. For centuries, the Mayo Clinic had been a center for innovative medical care, and it attracted patients from the entire planet. The Clinic's flow of patients continued today as Spock and Nyota waited quietly while passengers in wheelchairs and other assistive devices disembarked. Only after they were off did Spock and Nyota move to grab their own belongings.

Spock's grandparents, Drs. Howard and Jeanne Grayson, had settled here for their careers and to raise their family. Howard, a surgeon, specialized in orthopedics. Jeanne, a professor, taught advanced writing and literature courses at a college nearby. Their daughters, Amanda and Margaret, spent most of their childhoods here as well until Amanda left for graduate school at Berkeley and Margaret studied art in Italy. Margaret eventually returned when her husband's career brought him to one of the many biomedical firms in the area. Amanda left the planet when she married Vulcan's ambassador.

The October morning air was chilly and crisp as autumn fell on this portion of North America. Spock draped a coat over himself. Nyota zipped up her sweater. The two had chosen civilian clothing to avoid drawing more attention to themselves than was necessary, but they never expected to blend in entirely with their fellow passengers or pedestrians. Nyota had her hair down to alter her appearance from the official Starfleet photos of herself and the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew that were all over the media as they recapped the events surrounding Nero's threat to Earth. Spock, in particular, stood out in any Earth crowd, more so after Vulcan's destruction. Many people stared openly, knowing who he was. However stern and unsmiling Vulcans were intimidating to most humans, so they tended to leave him alone.

Despite appearances, his mood was not dark. Over the previous two weeks, with Nyota's encouragement, he had become more settled with the concept of this visit. Nyota's influence, in general, opened him to things that he never would have considered otherwise. But, once he finally accepted Margaret's invitation, something about it _felt right_ , just as Ambassador Spock would have phrased it.

His elder self had counseled him on the value of taking leaps of faith. Looking back, he had made two such leaps in his life. His first leap brought him to Starfleet. His second brought him to Nyota. Each leap brought significant and difficult challenges, but each one had also brought his greatest rewards. Perhaps it was time to leap again. Perhaps he would find his peace. But he would take it at his Vulcan side's measured pace.

Nyota and Spock grabbed their bags and exited the craft, then made their way to the terminal's waiting area. Spock's height proved to be an advantage as he looked over the heads of the dense, hurried crowd and spotted Margaret quickly. The two made eye contact, and Margaret and Allen navigated their way through the busy flow to meet their guests.

Margaret smiled. "Hello, Spock. I'm so glad that you could come." Her eyes sparkled with warmth, and she had the easy Grayson grace.

Despite his new openness to this experience, Spock was not sure how to interact with his aunt and uncle, so he cloaked himself in Vulcan decorum. "We are honored by your welcome and hospitality," he answered formally. "You remember Nyota Uhura," he stated as Nyota stepped forward. "Nyota, Margaret Grayson and Dr. Allen Markham."

Nyota extended her hand to each and smiled. They seemed as nice as she remembered them on the day of Amanda's service. They smiled with an edge of nervousness. Spock's Vulcan mode was not helping. She would have to do something about that. "Yes, we've met. I am so pleased to see you again," she said, trying to put them at ease.

"Likewise," Allen returned. He remained confounded by what this charming woman saw in his nephew, who seemed as stiff and reserved as ever. "Shall we depart?"

"As soon as possible," said Margaret. "I have refreshments waiting for us at home."

Allen loaded their bags into the vehicle, and soon they were off. The late afternoon sun accentuated the golden tones of autumn's colors at their peak. The reds, golds, yellows, and hints of green created a mosaic of color in the hills and valleys as they left the city and travelled through the mostly rural landscape. Glints of reflected light scattered on the small creeks that wove their way through the landscape against a sky so intensely blue that it almost hurt to look at it. Tucked here and there, vintage gabled dwellings with porches and white picket fences peaked out through the trees. Many of their owners had decorated their entrances in traditional fashion with pumpkins, squashes, and colorful Indian corn stalks.

They rode quietly as conversation eluded them. Allen, unsure what to talk about, pointedly concentrated on driving. Margaret, still nervous, mentally ran down a list of potential topics to initiate conversation, dismissing each one in turn in her insecurity. Spock seemed content to remain silent, but Nyota could not stand it anymore and broke the silence.

"Look at the colors in the trees. Margaret, Allen, what beautiful country this is!" she said from the back seat. "Spock, don't you think so?" She stared and threw him her best _I-expect-an-answer_ look.

Spock knew that look, and he decided that the benefits of answering outweighed the consequences of remaining quiet. He studied the foliage of plant life in seasonal transition. It was different from its appearance during his winter visit years ago, but he had seen the autumn pictures his mother had kept in an album. "It is pleasing," he allowed, practicing newly developed skills in small talk, trying to appease Nyota.

"Just 'pleasing'? Look, it's gorgeous! I could just eat it up!"

Spock tilted his head. "'Eat it up'?"

"In all the years you have lived on Earth, I can't believe you haven't heard that expression."

"Not in this context."

Nyota furrowed her brow. "Well, I give it an 89.0254 percent chance that you'll figure it out," she said tartly.

She was teasing him, as she did most every day. "On what do you base your calculations?" Spock asked drily, teasing back. "I am neither aware of the formula you are using, nor can I—"

"Oh, shut up and enjoy the scenery!"

"As you wish."

This was hardly the conversation either Margaret or Allen expected. Margaret, unsure if they were really arguing, tried to remain neutral. Allen, shocked and surprised, smirked at the banter behind him.

"Am I going to have to pull this car over, Kids?" he said quietly, more for his own amusement than anyone else's.

But Nyota heard him and giggled.

"Is this vehicle malfunctioning?" Spock asked.

Allen guffawed. He tried to suppress his laughter, but could not. "No, no," he said, waving one hand, attempting to dismiss the confusion as he manned the vehicle's controls with the other. "It's an old joke. Margaret, explain it to him."

Margaret was beginning to see the levity in the situation as she realized that Nyota was not serious and Spock was not offended. "Oh, goodness, I'm not sure how much experience you have with Terran children," she began. "Children sitting in the back seat often get bored, and when they do, they'll pick a fight with their brother or sister for no good reason. Then the parent has to pull the car to the side of the transit lane and deal out a more severe punishment. But sometimes it's enough to say 'Do I need to pull over?' to stop the fight."

Spock, an only child, never had to share a back seat with anyone in his youth. Even so, Vulcan siblings rarely carried on in such a fashion. "Is this common?"

"Common enough that it's a joke," Nyota pointed out. "Most siblings fight. I used to fight with my sister. She always started it, though."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Nyota, grinning impishly, knew that he was not buying it.

Margaret nodded. "Your mother and I had a couple of back seat scuffles when we were girls. Dad only had to pull the skimmer over once, and that was the last of that."

"I cannot imagine boredom provoking my mother into a physical conflict."

"No, I imagine not. Amanda was always the calmer, older sister. She could keep her cool. But I was her pain-in-the-neck younger sister." Margaret smiled, glad to have drawn Spock's curiosity. "I probably started most of the fights, and it took a lot to get a rise out of her," she confessed. "But Amanda could always hold her own."

"Interesting."

"What do you find interesting?"

"I had not considered such aspects of my mother's upbringing."

Nyota's eyes gleamed. "Why not? She was an 'illogical human,' just like the rest of us," she teased again.

Spock took up the challenge. "She was not an 'illogical human,'" he said in his most even, clinical tone. "Nor are you…97.6457 percent of the time."

"Spock!"

Nyota glared. Spock looked innocent. Suddenly the vehicle slowed and Allen did, indeed, pull it to the side of the road as hysterical laughter overcame him and he could no longer drive.

This was going to be an interesting week.


	3. Similarities & Difficulties

The house that Allen and Margaret made their home was a two-storied structure with several gables like many of the vintage dwellings in the area. The couple created an environment with character, one that welcomed its inhabitants and guests with warm tans and browns, infused with splashes of jewel-toned reds, blues, and greens in the trim and accessories, inside and out. Framing the red brick walk, various patches of wildflowers, now nearing the end of their seasons, still welcomed visitors cheerily while rose vines climbed several trellises next to the cedar steps leading to the front door. Old oak trees, now in their burgundy and brown phases, cast impressive canopies over the yard. Several evergreen trees stood on the edge of property, both in the front yard and back. The wide wood-planked porch with old-fashioned spindles wrapped from the front and around one side of the house. White wicker furniture provided a resting place for anyone who wanted to sit back and enjoy the view of the neighborhood or hillside down into parkland below.

Inside, old-fashioned couches and chairs covered with bright afghans, quilts, and pillows promised cozy comfort. Oriental rugs provided their own warmth on the gold-toned wood floors. The colorful bindings on the printed books, which completely filled the shelves that, themselves, filled an entire wall in the spacious living room, beckoned to their readers with a wide range of topics and stories. They were a fixture in any Grayson household.

The rest of the home echoed the vintage furniture and fixtures from the living room. They added interesting details through the kitchen and breakfast nook, dining room, a powder room, and the study that Allen used as his office, and Margaret and Allen's bedroom suite on the first floor. On the second floor were four more rooms: Norah and Alaina's childhood bedrooms, an extra room that had at various times served as a playroom, music room, and guest room, and a full bathroom. Over the garage was Margaret's office and studio.

Throughout the home hung many paintings of friends and family, with a landscape or two, that Margaret had completed throughout the years. Other pieces of art, smaller sculptures and wall hangings, accented the larger pieces.

Margaret, Allen, Spock, and Nyota shared a pleasant supper their first evening in. The conversation focused mostly on their careers as the four of them slowly became acquainted. Allen tapped into Spock's considerable scientific knowledge as he consulted him on a materials science problem he was having at work.

Afterward, Spock and Nyota settled into Norah and Alaina's old rooms for the night, each finding their accommodations comfortable and—thanks to the typical Grayson touch—comforting. Although Margaret and Amanda were worlds apart, the sisters chose similar colors, arranged their rooms likewise, and outfitted them nearly identically for their guests' peace and relaxation.

Again the similarities between Margaret and his mother tugged at Spock's human side, which incited a riot of thoughts, and he had trouble falling asleep. Because he could not meditate, he spent most of the night staring at the ceiling in the dark.

**-o0o-**

"Good morning, Spock," Margaret greeted him cheerfully as he descended the stairway to the main floor. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Nyota, already seated at the small breakfast table in the kitchen, munched on a muffin and some fruit. She looked him over; he rarely slept in. Their eyes met. His were pleasant enough, but clearly his mind was obsessing on something. She raised her eyebrows in question, but he simply took the chair next to her.

"The muffins are good," Nyota said, passing the basket of them. "Would you like one?"

Using his fork, he selected one and set it on the plate in front of him. Margaret set down a steaming cup of tea to the side.

"There," she said, finally sitting down to her own muffin and tea. "I hope everyone slept well."

"Oh, yes, I did," Nyota said. "It's so nice and quiet here. There is always ambient sound on the _Enterprise_."

Spock nodded in agreement. "Where is Allen?"

Margaret sipped her tea. "Oh, he's at work. He's working on that materials problem he told you about last night. I think you gave him some ideas for another approach, so he'll be talking to his team. But he should be back at around lunch."

Spock seemed in good spirits, at least from what Margaret could discern from the few cues he gave. Now would be a good time to broach her proposal.

"Spock, I invited you here so we could get to know one another better."

"Yes, that was your stated goal," he acknowledged.

"As you well know, I am a portrait artist. Do you remember the portrait I painted of you and your mother years ago?"

"I remember sitting for it, but I never saw the portrait."

Margaret sat back and thought. Spock was correct. She only completed it after their departure. She showed the portrait to Amanda on one of her return visits, but Spock had not been with her. "You're right, you didn't. Come with me."

The three of them rose. Margaret led the way down the hall to the study. They entered the room, rounded the corner, and Margaret pointed to the wall where the images of Amanda and Young Spock looked back at them.

Spock never would have anticipated having to prepare himself emotionally to look at a portrait. But here before him was the essence of his mother. Margaret had captured the same affection and warmth in Amanda's eyes as they had held in life. Her reassuring smile was the same one he remembered when she offered him encouragement or comfort whenever she felt he needed it, and he had needed it many times in the months since her death. The pangs of loss and remorse tightened his chest, and he reasserted his control to numb them. Breathing life into an image was impossible, but Margaret had came close.

Nyota was amazed by Margaret's work. "This is beautiful," she said. "Oh, Spock, you were a lovely child." She smiled thinking about him. The qualities she saw in his younger self were many of the ones that she found endearing in him now. "Margaret, you have incredible insights into both of them," she observed.

"Thank you," Margaret said. "And, if Spock is willing to sit for another portrait, I would like to get to know him again. Are you willing, Spock?"

Spock hardly heard her question as he continued to stare at the painting, the closeness of the child to the mother, the closeness he missed. Suddenly his cool Vulcan mind emerged, reminding his human side of the pointlessness of such thoughts. He set his jaw, evened his breathing, and carefully returned to a neutral state.

"How will reproducing my image better acquaint us?" he asked.

"It is how I see people," Margaret explained. "As a scientist, you see by looking through the patterns in data. Mine is a different way of seeing, through line, shape, light, texture, color…. As a former linguistics instructor, you certainly understand that communication comes in many forms. Allow me to get to know you through my craft."

He considered her request. He was uncomfortable; this seemed too intimate, although he could not discern why it would be. Between this request, the surroundings reminiscent of his mother's home, and seeing his mother's image, his chest was tightening again. He needed to meditate. Now.

"Yes," he agreed, just to put the matter at rest for the moment. "Excuse me."

He abruptly left the study and walked directly up the stairway to his room, closing the door behind him. He left a stunned Margaret behind.

"Nyota, what just happened?"

The younger woman nodded to herself in understanding at Spock's hasty departure. She had to resist the urge to go after him. "Your work is very, very good, Margaret, and I think he just had an intense reaction to it. We need to leave him alone for a while."

Margaret's eyes widened in shock, then misted while she recalled Amanda's descriptions of her son's devotion to her. "I know how he feels," she said. "Or maybe I don't. All that he's lost, I thought the Vulcan in him might make him immune to some of that. I had no idea…. No wonder why he resisted coming here. I feel terrible."

Nyota patted Margaret's arm in a gesture of comfort. "Don't feel bad. You meant well. No one could have predicted how hard this would be," Nyota reassured, remaining calm, though she was near an emotional edge herself. "Did Amanda tell you how intensely Vulcans feel everything?"

"Not really," said Margaret, dabbing the excess moisture from her eyes, then tried her best to lighten the mood. "When she commented on anything like that, it was about how stubborn they all were."

Nyota smiled briefly, picking up on Margaret's cues. "I have had some experience with that myself," she said, shaking her head in mild amusement through her own concern. "But seriously, Vulcan society is ordered with limited and predictable interactions, which helps Vulcans avoid overstimulating themselves. The truth is, buried deep inside they are passionate, and emotional control is important because when they lose it, they fall far quickly. They can't just shrug off a momentary lapse like we can, so they meditate when control is threatened to put their thoughts and feelings back in order. That's what Spock needs to do now."

"Will he be all right?" Margaret's tone indicated lingering doubt.

"I think so." Nyota squeezed Margaret's hand to reassure her some more. "It's going to take time. He has to work through grief like anyone else. And he knows it, even if he won't admit it. He just has to do it in his own way. "

Margaret was impressed. Nyota had a maturity that few her age had. Perhaps because of her experience in battle and the enormous responsibility thrust upon her, she had been forced to grow up faster than she might have otherwise. But Margaret noted that these experiences had not hardened Nyota. The young woman had somehow retained her empathy.

Margaret nodded in understanding. "He's lucky to have you."

"I feel that I'm the lucky one." Nyota smiled. "I hope you'll feel the same after you get to know him."


	4. Revelations

He closed the door behind him. He did not try to meditate, though he needed it. What was the point? Instead Spock lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling again. What was it about seeing his mother in that portrait that caused his lapse in control? He had many photos of her, but looking at them did not cause the intense reaction that the portrait had. Several minutes went by as his mind continued to ask, in a more human fashion, _Why, why, why?_

He reviewed the portrait's many elements, one by one. Was it the pairing of himself with his mother? No, he had a photo in his quarters, one of he and his mother that she had insisted that he take with him when he left Vulcan for Starfleet Academy those many years ago.

Was it seeing her as she was then? As a Vulcan, Spock was not given to dwelling on appearances, past or present. That was a human behavior.

He realized it was not Amanda's image itself that tore at him. No, it was the warm palette of colors that Margaret had chosen for the background, for their clothing, in their skin tones that created the nearly palpable emotion that flowed from the painting. They were the same ones Spock knew from connecting thoughts and emotions through their mother-son bond. The warm rusts, vibrant blues, golds, and corals that Spock had seen in his mother's mind, and in the aura he sensed when he was with her, communicated love, acceptance, security, belonging... With Amanda's death, the colors of her essence were forever gone—or so he thought until he saw Margaret's painting. Seeing them again in the vulnerability of grief had shocked him.

Upon further contemplation, he factored in the fact that he had never allowed himself to grieve. Outwardly, he had attended the ceremonies and services honoring the dead. He had submitted himself to and participated in the public and private rituals of family and society marking the losses. He pushed down the hurt, never allowing his grief to surface.

Inwardly, in the constant war between his Vulcan and human halves, he admonished himself continually. Remorse and sadness were illogical. They would not bring back his mother. She was gone. Accept that. Intellectually he had, but his human heart never ceased to ache, and, as always, his Vulcan mind berated him for missing her. And so this incessant loop had continued over the months, eroding his energy, eating at his core, and upsetting his balance.

Still, he turned to Vulcan logic in an attempt to fix his human-based issues. It was fact: Repeatedly using the same variables in a formula and expecting a different outcome was illogical. Therefore, to change the outcome, one had to change at least one variable. But which one?

Clearly Vulcan methods of emotional control were no longer sufficient. Over the months since Amanda's death, he had exhausted all his Vulcan mind disciplines. They had been effective, but only temporarily. Unfortunately, whenever his grief returned, each time it had returned, it returned with an intensity greater than the last, draining his control and reserves so far that it threatened his ability to function at times. Spock needed something else.

Grief was a human emotion. Perhaps now it was time to turn to a more human method.

There was a human saying: "Time heals all wounds." Spock reasoned that if he granted himself permission to allow the sadness he felt, it did not mean that he had to lose emotional control. It did not have to incapacitate him, nor would he allow it. He would keep his control in check until sufficient time had passed.

With that decision, his head cleared. With this plan he had some peace. It was elemental, was it not? How could he have missed this? Did Nyota not already tell him that it was all right to mourn Amanda's loss, that he should stop burying it? How did he not understand what she meant until this moment?

Spock decided that he had been foolish blocking the inconvenient, but undeniably present human elements of his psychology and physiology. He also decided that he needed to apologize to Nyota for the months of irrational behavior. And he would—after he re-centered himself—at the earliest opportunity.

He got off the bed, sat cross-legged on the floor, and began a series of deep breaths. Meditation might be more fruitful now.

**-o0o-**

A couple hours later Spock emerged from his room with a renewed calm, but eager to find Nyota. He followed her voice and Margaret's to the breakfast table. Their jaws dropped when he appeared before them as if nothing had happened.

"Excuse me, Margaret, but may I have a word with Nyota?"

Nyota eyed him—something had changed. "Spock?"

"With me, please." He turned and headed out the door to the back yard. It was abrupt, even for him.

Nyota rose to walk out after him, giving Margaret a quizzical backward glance. Margaret, equally confused, shrugged in return as Nyota followed Spock outside.

Margaret was afraid that Spock would announce that they were leaving. He had been upset, and she knew from Nyota's input as well as her own observations of Sarek that control was everything. Perhaps Nyota could calm him.

She had spent several minutes contemplating the many possibilities by time Allen walked in through the front door with a spring in his step. "Hi, Margaret! Where's Spock? He's a genius!" Allen could barely contain his excitement. "His suggestions were spot-on, and I think we finally broke through." Allen noticed Margaret's pensive mood. "Hey, what's going on?"

Margaret rolled her eyes heavenward. "It's been quite the morning here." She related the drama of the past couple hours, finishing with "…then he practically comes bounding down the stairs, and now he and Nyota are out in the back yard."

"What are they doing out there?"

"He's talking to her. I don't know what about."

His curiosity piqued, Allen walked up to the window to look out.

"Allen, what are you doing?"

"Seeing what's going on."

"Get away from there. It's rude!"

"It's also very interesting."

Despite her better intentions, Margaret had to get up and look. Seated on the bench was a patient, yet bemused Nyota. In front of her was a more-animated-than-usual Vulcan, pacing and gesturing occasionally as he spoke. Nyota's smile grew wider and wider as Spock continued to speak. Finally, after several minutes, he stopped and sat beside her. Soon they were looking into one another's eyes, and she started nuzzling against his shoulder.

"OK, Allen, that's enough!" Margaret hissed, trying to pull him away.

"But they're so cute," Allen teased. "And I want to see what happens next."

Margaret hit him squarely on the arm. Hard. After knowing Sarek, her husband knew better than to intrude on a Vulcan's private moments.

"OK, all right… I'm going. But aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Of course I am. But I'm not invading their privacy," Margaret declared. "After everything that's gone on this morning, just let them be."

Allen laughed. "They're out in the middle of the yard in broad daylight. How private is that?"

Margaret glared at him, but she had to laugh, too. "Fine, they're not in an underground bunker. But we don't need to be voyeurs. I got Spock to agree to sit for the portrait, and I don't want you messing it up. He was rattled enough as it was."

"He doesn't look rattled now," Allen observed, eyebrows raised as he took another peek out the window.

"That's it! Get out of here!" Margaret huffed, playfully grabbing a towel with which to chase Allen into the living room.

Allen made a hasty retreat.


	5. Kol-ut-shan

"Spock, I need you to tell me a story while I do a few preliminary sketches," Margaret said later after the now-calmer Vulcan and Nyota came back inside the house. "This exercise helps me get to know my subject better." She was happy to note that he looked more at ease. After getting a nod from Nyota confirming that her request would not cause undue stress, she guided Spock to the living room. Allen and Nyota followed. "Here, why don't you sit in this chair—the light is best here."

Spock followed Margaret's instructions quietly. Margaret took another chair a couple steps away from him. Allen and Nyota sat on the sofa after Allen set down a tray of refreshments.

"I am not accustomed to storytelling," Spock said, not completely settling back into his chair. "What kind of story do you require?"

Although he had not relaxed his guard completely, Margaret was glad for his cooperation. Nyota had been correct about his need to meditate if his posture were any indication. The stiffness in his shoulders had disappeared. He seemed more approachable. Though she never expected to find out, Margaret was dying to know what he had said to Nyota in the back yard. Nyota's face was beaming when the two came inside, and Spock showed interest in the muffin and fruit he had abandoned at breakfast earlier. She figured that, like young men everywhere, if he were eating, then he was fine. Amanda had told her once that Sarek and Spock could go days without food with few ill consequences.

"It does not have to be a ' _Once upon a time'_ type story, like a fairy tale. You can talk about an experience you've had, or observations on something you find interesting."

Margaret surveyed the room, looking for objects to inspire ideas. Her eyes found it. Over the fireplace was not one of Margaret's works, as one might have expected. In this place of honor hung an intricate textile work of multiple fabrics—some shimmering, others more coarse—coppery and silvery metal disks and tiles, and red, olive, and black stones.

Margaret indicated the work. Spock scanned it, his eyes widened slightly, and his gaze lingered on the piece.

"That was a gift from your parents," she informed him. "For Allen's and my 20th anniversary."

"Yes, I accompanied Mother when she selected it," he said.

Margaret's interest piqued. "Then maybe you could tell me more about it? Amanda said that that's an IDIC symbol in the middle, and I looked up the definition. But she did not tell me about where it came from, and I never got around to asking her. It's a unique piece."

"We found it in the artists' market in Shi'Kahr. It is composed of several kinds of cloth, each with its own fiber content and weave. The metals are copper, bronze, and nickel. The stones are common obsidian, olivine, and quartz."

Such an impersonal description. "There must be more to this story," Margaret prompted. "Why did Amanda choose it?"

Spock's eyes met Margaret's eyes for a couple seconds. Margaret had felt that kind of stare before from Sarek—the one he used while assessing his willingness to divulge a personal matter. Spock took these few moments to weigh his thoughts and make a decision. As Margaret worried that he would retreat into himself again, he surprised her at the last moment when he took a deep breath and began….

**-o0o-**

_[12 years earlier...]_

The human woman and her 14-year-old son walked through the courtyard on a mission. Amanda sought a gift to send to her sister and brother-in-law to celebrate their milestone anniversary, something uniquely Vulcan, but also something to which the recipients could relate. Along with Spock and a couple members of her husband's security staff, who always accompanied her whenever she ventured outside of visits to family, she made her way through Old Shi'Kahr, the inner city that held the craftspeople's and artists' sectors. She disliked having her guards along, but she was an ambassador's wife and a member of a high-ranking family, and the additional measure of security was necessary.

Spock suspected that his father also had sent them to thwart displays of bigotry, whether subtle or overt. Although Sarek expected Spock to deal with them through logic and control, his expectations for Amanda were different, and he was more protective of his human mate. Cold stares from a few of the merchants, when they thought no one was looking, confirmed Spock's suspicions. When his mother's attentions focused elsewhere, Spock stared back at them evenly, carefully controlling his own expression, ensuring that they knew their disrespect had not gone unnoticed.

As Amanda worked her way down the row, a glittering pattern caught Spock's attention from a small corner across the plaza. "Excuse me, Mother, I will return shortly," he said.

He turned without waiting for a response, as he was intrigued, and few things slowed him down once they caught his youthful curiosity. The closer he approached, the more interested he became in the various textile wall-hangings and banners he saw. The works' many colors and variety of textures and materials combined in ways Spock had never seen. All of them had one thing in common: the symbol _kol-ut-shan._ The symbol represented the philosophy of infinite diversity in infinite combinations, the idea that even the most dissimilar and unrelated elements could combine to create something greater than the sum of its parts. The diverse materials in each piece came together to create a beautiful and singular work. The works represented the philosophy perfectly.

In the center of the collection sat the artist calmly assessing various swatches of material for her next endeavor. The young woman's serene features brightened subtly when she noticed Spock, and she nodded to him in welcome. "Greetings...if you wish to examine a particular piece more closely, I will retrieve it for you."

"I am interested in your uncommon choice of subject matter," Spock said. "Representations of _kol-ut-shan_ are rare outside of temples and shrines."

"Indeed, that is unfortunate," the artist replied. "I include it in my works because it is an essential philosophy. Too often our people forget its value, and, thus, forfeit intellectual and spiritual development."

That was as passionate and as open an answer as Spock ever heard from a Vulcan. "You optimize the differences in your materials to create a pleasing, cohesive work," he said, restating what he observed quietly minutes before.

"My intention is to do so," she confirmed.

"I will return," he said.

After finding Amanda, he insisted that she accompany him immediately. Rarely was her son so insistent. "What has gotten into you?" she asked.

"I believe I have located the appropriate gift," he said, leading her.

As Amanda approached the _kol-ut-shan,_ then met the artist T'Yarehn, who welcomed her more warmly than any Vulcan ever had, she had to agree. The woman believed in the philosophy that she expressed on the colorful artworks that fluttered in the light breeze. Although T'Yarehn maintained a Vulcan's reserve, there was none of the iciness that Amanda often encountered. It was refreshing to the human mother and her son who often encountered rejection because of their differences. Amanda purchased two wall-hangings, one for Margaret and Allen, and one for her own home, as much to honor the artist as well as her creations.

Sarek and Amanda turned to the artist T'Yarehn thereafter as a source of gifts that they brought with them on various diplomatic and academic missions.

****-o0o-** **

As Spock told his story, the level of detail he included amazed Nyota, especially his observations on bigotry and his calm admission that he stared down the merchants who had looked down on his mother. For the past few months, Spock had locked himself down. This was an openness to outsiders that she had not anticipated at this point. Was this a piece of his human side starting to reach out? In the back yard he had admitted his need to grieve, a major step for him. She remained unsure that he understood how opening himself to human grief would affect him, but she was proud of his effort. For now, though she could feel his discomfort, he continued.

"The artist, T'Yarehn...," Spock paused, then looked down and to his left. "She was one of the few Vulcan friends Mother had. She, too, perished in the genocide."

Margaret put down her pencil, saddened. The artist had obviously won Spock's respect, and his quiet voice and averted gaze suggested this loss has affected him on a greater personal level. "After hearing about her, I am even more honored to have her work in our home. We will remember T'Yarehn's name always." Margaret hoped her words were appropriate and brought some measure of comfort. It was hard to tell.

"What a loss," Allen agreed. He always liked the wall-hanging. With the planet's destruction, and now knowing the story behind it, the wall-hanging became more to him than a remnant of Vulcan culture. For some reason, a lump formed in his throat as he thought about the circumstances, and after Spock's story, he knew that he would never look at T'Yarehn's work—or his nephew—the same way again.


	6. Media Matters

Margaret needed to take a break, and it was lunchtime. She had completed three sketches of her nephew and wanted her mind to process what she had just drawn. She would need to do more, of course, before she chose a pose, facial expression (so far there was not much from which to choose), and mood for her final work.

Allen went to the comm station in the study to check in with his work colleagues on the progress of his project. This had not been the most convenient week for him to take off, but it could not be helped. His director understood when Allen explained that the timing of his nephew's visit was Starfleet's schedule, not his. However, Allen kept in touch to keep the project on track while he was away.

Inviting her guests into the kitchen, Margaret set out pita bread, hummus, fried tofu, spinach, and various vegetables, nuts, dried fruit, and dressings for her guests to configure into sandwiches or salads. She remembered the foods she had prepared for Amanda and Spock's previous visit and duplicated the efforts. "I am making veggie lasagna on Sunday. Would you mind if I invited your cousins? Norah and Alaina would like to see you again."

Spock thought well of Norah and Alaina and his time with them years ago. While Amanda, Allen, and Margaret had visited with one another, the children shared some interesting adventures, many that simultaneously confused and intrigued him. The sisters had treated him well, better than most Vulcan children had. Their cultural differences did not seem to matter to the girls. If Spock wanted to participate in their activities, he was welcome. If not, then he was free to observe. Either way, they made a point of including him. It had been difficult to return to Vulcan after knowing that kind of companionship.

"Yes, it would be agreeable to see them again."

The prospect of vegetable lasagna was also agreeable to Spock, although he did not comment on this. It was one of the dishes that Amanda always prepared using traditional cooking methods, never replicated. The sauce came from tomatoes, onions, and garlic they grew themselves. Honoring the pact he made with himself earlier in the morning, he allowed himself to miss it for a moment, then concentrated on assembling his salad.

"Good! And Alaina's fiancé would like to meet you as well. Oh, I forgot to tell you about that. They just got engaged last week. His name is Safi. Safi Afua. He's a pathologist at the Mayo Clinic. Nyota, you have something in common. He's from East Africa."

"Hmm, I'd enjoy talking to someone from home," Nyota said. "I'm sure you're excited. It sounds like you are."

"He's a wonderful young man. Of course I am. Alaina was bouncing around so much when she called us. Her face hardly stayed within the comm screen." Margaret's face softened as a memory flickered behind her eyes. "Spock, it was just like your mother when she called to tell me she was marrying your father. Maybe it's a family thing. She hardly could sit still, either."

"I can see why she'd be hopping in her seat…." Nyota grinned, glancing to her side where her beloved now concentrated more intensely on a couple cucumber slices. He placed them with the same precision as he would have had he been reconnecting the delicate fibers of a sensor array. More often than not, he had an easier time facing down five Klingon warriors than he did accepting a loving comment.

Nyota sighed, smirking. "Well, even if he doesn't want to hear the story, I do. How did she tell you about herself and Sarek? Not just about the engagement, but from the beginning?"

"Well…," Margaret mused. "We only found out about their relationship after we heard about it on the news."

Suddenly his salad was not as interesting. Margaret had Spock's full attention…

_**-o0o-** _

_[33 years before…]_

Margaret, Howard, and Jeanne Grayson had just finished supper, spending a rare evening together as newly married Margaret visited her parents while Allen was away at a seminar for his new job. Jeanne, a college professor, was on break between sessions. Howard had cleared his surgical schedule so he could be with them. Margaret busied herself at her sketch pad and Howard read a book while the three watched the evening holovid newscast.

"… _Officials point out that relaxed restrictions from the Vulcan High Council through its embassy may open opportunities for scientific exchange and a strengthening of the Federation overall.…"_

Images of Vulcan and Terran officials in front of a United Federation of Planets logo flickered before them.

"… _However, some sources, who request to remain anonymous, say that diplomacy of a more personal kind may be at play.…"_

At full screen, Margaret's sister's image looked back at them all.

"Amanda!?" Margaret shouted.

Howard and Jeanne each looked at each other in horror as the reporter went on to describe reports of a dating, perhaps romantic relationship between Vulcan's Ambassador Sarek and Amanda Grayson, a PhD candidate at the University of California, Berkeley. By sources who wished to remain anonymous, of course.

Suddenly the comm station in the next room came to life, beeping as message upon message demanded attention. Howard had only seen machinery come to life like that during emergencies in the ER. As a surgeon, he was used to going into action. "OK. What do we know? Spill!" Howard commanded, his face sterner than a Planetary Defense Force drill sergeant's.

"She is working with the Vulcan Embassy on a translator project for her doctoral thesis," Margaret recited. "She goes there several times a week. She has met the ambassador several times, but she mostly works with his staff."

"Has she said anything about the ambassador himself?"

"She likes him," Margaret answered. "She said that he's 'regal.' He's always been nice to her."

"Jeanne, what has she said to you?"

"That she enjoys her work, that Ambassador Sarek is helpful and respectful, and that she's fascinated with her subject matter." Jeanne shook her head. "Maybe we are dealing with rumors. You know how the media are. Before we fly off the handle, we need to talk to Amanda first. Now let's calm down."

Then something tickled in the back of Margaret's memories. Amanda did say that she had accompanied the ambassador to a reception celebrating the anniversary of First Contact. But would it not make sense for a Terran working on a Vulcan-Terran translation project to accompany the Vulcan ambassador on this occasion? It would be symbolic. Then how about the time that Amanda accompanied the ambassador to the San Francisco Symphony featuring Vulcan works? Then there was…uh-oh. She decided to keep this information to herself.

Suddenly the comm station beeped with the family sequence of tones indicating a priority call. The three left the living room, venturing into the office alcove where the unit sat. On the screen:

_CommLink Requestor: Amanda Grayson_

"Accept," Howard ordered the unit.

Amanda's face appeared, her mouth in a nervous, strained smile when she saw the rest of her family on the other end.

Before she could greet them, Howard broke in. "Amanda, what is going on? Is there something we need to know?"

The smile disappeared and Amanda steeled herself. "What have you heard, Dad?"

Howard kept his voice carefully even. "That you and the Vulcan ambassador are in a non-platonic relationship. But I wanted to ask you about it first because I would hate to think that I'd find out something like this from the newsvids and not from my daughter herself. Is it true?"

Amanda took a deep breath. "It is true." She did not look down or away. She seemed to adopt a Vulcan's calm and remained expressionless.

Jeanne gasped.

Margaret's eyebrows shot upward. In their childhood, Amanda had always been known as "Miss Perfect," but now she had, probably for the first time in her life, done something radical. It was usually Margaret who shocked and surprised the family with mild hijinks, nothing harmful, but Amanda had just done something no one had. And on a stellar scale, too! "Whoa…," she said.

"Nothing out of you!" Howard snapped at Margaret. "Amanda, why are we only hearing about this now?"

"Because the media do not know how to mind their own business," Amanda stated. "Sarek and I are just beginning to get to know each other. I had planned to tell you about our relationship if it appeared to be long-term. Had it ended, I would have liked to put it behind me without saying anything, for the sake of his privacy and mine. But now I do not have that option."

"And what is the nature of your relationship?"

"As you said, non-platonic," Amanda said, carefully controlling her voice. "No other details are pertinent to this discussion. I am 24 years old, and my choices are my own."

"You sound like a Vulcan," Howard accused.

"Thank you," Amanda said. She refused to be distracted. "I am sorry that this has upset you, but…." Then Amanda's detached demeanor softened. "Mom, Dad, Margaret, I have to be honest. I…I have never felt this way before about anyone. I apologize for using a cliché, but it's like he's my other half. And I'm having a hard time denying or ignoring that." She looked downward. "Please do not hate me. I really need to see where this goes."

Jeanne spoke. "Amanda, you have never been in love before. You've hardly dated before! Are you sure that you're not being swept up by the glamour and the exotic nature of this situation? What do you know about him? Do you understand that Vulcans are not just from another planet? They are a whole different species. We share similarities, but there have got to be some incompatibilities that no one knows about yet. You cannot let yourself be swept away by some dashing ambassador. This is serious. There are issues—big ones!"

Amanda tried to return to a more stoic manner. "I am aware of the diplomatic, cultural, and biological issues. I am trying to maintain rationality on this. Sarek also insists on this. Neither of us plans to rush things. "

"You do realize that your life just changed. Maybe ours as well."

"I do."

Jeanne took in a shuddered breath. "He's not trifling with you, is he? He's not having a fling with a human woman as some kind of an experiment? I have to ask."

"The potential fallout for him is greater than it is for me. Vulcans do not have flings. The culture forbids it, and the consequences—"

"And what about _feelings_? What about _emotion_? Can you be with someone who cannot love you?"

"Mom, Vulcans control emotions. They have them. To what extent, I have to find out for myself." Amanda now looked uncomfortable, but she forged on. "I need to make a request."

"What is it?" Howard asked.

"Now that there is media speculation about a relationship between Sarek and me, the embassy press secretary has issued guidelines for dealing with the press. I am asking you to read them and to follow them. None of them should surprise you. They are, of course, _logical_ …." Amanda could not restrain a slight smile at that. "I will forward them to you. In the meantime, please don't talk to anyone. It will only make things more difficult."

Howard felt a surge of protectiveness. "Is anyone at the embassy in any way threatening you?"

"No, not at all. I worked with the press secretary long ago to draw up the guidelines, just in case."

"I see.... Well, then.... We will review them. If there are conflicts, we'll need to talk," Howard said. He hated the idea of Vulcan Embassy staff telling him what to do, but he understood the need for guidelines.

"I understand. Thank you," Amanda said. "I need to go. I am sorry. Please support me, even if you don't support my choices."

"Whatever you do, Amanda, you will always have our support," Jeanne said.

Howard nodded. Though Amanda was an adult, he feared that she would be hurt at some point. When that happened, he and Jeanne would be ready.

Amanda, almost reading her father's thoughts, still smiled. He always worried about her. "Good night, everyone."

"Good night, Amanda. Remember that we love you," Jeanne said.

The screen went dark, and the transmission information appeared at the bottom.

_End of transmission. Secure line. Embassy of Vulcan, San Francisco, Terra._

**-o0o-**

"Did your parents support the relationship?" Nyota asked.

"No, that took awhile," Margaret said. "A Terran-Vulcan relationship was unheard of. Mom and Dad were upset, but who could blame them? They had not met Sarek yet, so he was a big unknown to them, and they were afraid. Complicating the matter was the media sensationalizing everything. For the first few weeks, our comm station beeped non-stop. Dad had to get a new pager for work because the code to his old one got out, and the reporters kept buzzing him. Amanda was followed everywhere. She couldn't take two steps without someone getting into her face. At one point, Sarek had to hire private security for her."

"We can relate to that, can't we, Spock?" Nyota said.

"There is a 32.543 percent chance that we will be accosted by a media representative before we complete our visit here," he stated. He narrowed his brow. "It is intrusive."

For Spock, in many ways, serving in deep space offered respite, although at times the _Enterprise_ could be a fishbowl unto itself. But, for the most part, it was a closed community that offered a measure of privacy.

"I guess that's the 'reward' you get for saving the planet," Margaret sighed.

"So, when did your parents begin to accept Amanda and Sarek's relationship?" Nyota asked. "And how did you feel about it?"

"I thought it was great," Margaret said. "Really, because Amanda had never turned her head for any guy, although she had plenty of offers from some very eligible suitors, believe me. And I guess I was taken by the exotic nature of it all. How romantic! To find love with an ambassador from a faraway star…. OK, I admit, it sounds goofy, but I really was a hopeless romantic at the time."

Margaret sighed, laughed at herself, then continued. "But as I talked to her, I could tell that Sarek was 'the one.' She was so, so happy, and even more so each time I talked to her. It took Mom and Dad a bit longer to figure it out. But after a year into it, Amanda and Sarek looked like they were in it for the long haul. That's when I think they started accepting the inevitable. I think the thing that helped the most was when Mom, Dad, Allen, and I got to meet Sarek ourselves."

"What was that like?"

"First of all, it was fun because we did not meet at the Vulcan Embassy. We met in Maui."

"Maui?" Spock was incredulous. Were he human, his mouth would have hit the floor.

"It was neutral territory, it was relaxing, and, therefore _, logical_ ," Margaret laughed. "Amanda said it was Sarek's idea. He's the diplomat, so I guess he used to setting the stage for some careful negotiations."

Nyota giggled. The picture of Vulcans doing the hula popped into her head.

Spock suddenly looked at her. "Nyota…." Had he picked up her thought? Or simply guessed?

"Uh, sorry…."

"It wasn't your typical Hawaiian vacation, if that's what you're thinking," Margaret continued. "Maui has some very exclusive, secluded resorts, sheltered from paparazzi and other intruders. The scenery was peaceful. We were on the dry side of the island, so it was more comfortable for Sarek and his aides, but comfortable for us, too, as we had the swimming pool right outside our suite. We had the freedom to get to know one another without worrying about pressure from the outside."

"Did Sarek win your parents over during the trip?"

"I think they accepted him, although it was weird for Dad to have a prospective son-in-law who was older than he was, although Sarek looked younger. But they found a peace. Dad is more reserved than most people, and he has a more logical mind than most, so it was probably easier for Sarek to relate to him, too. I think that Mom saw what I saw, that Sarek was 'the one,' so that was good enough for us."


	7. Autumn Stroll

"I want to take a walk," Margaret said, grabbing a sweater after the three of them cleared the dishes from lunch. "There's a network of walking and biking trails just down the road. It looks like Allen's going to be awhile. I could stand to stretch my legs a bit."

"Sounds good to me," Nyota said. "I'll go get my coat. Spock, what about you?"

"I will join you," he said, walking to the coat tree in the front foyer to get his coat as well. He welcomed the prospect of light physical activity. It would provide a break from the intensely personal (for him) recollections and allow his mind a chance to reflect on them. Yet he would not offend his hosts by secluding himself again.

By mid-autumn standards, the sunny, dry weather was pleasantly warm to Margaret, but cool to her guests who came from much warmer climates. Properly attired, none found it unpleasant, though, as they walked down the road, occasionally hearing the crunch of dry fallen leaves beneath their feet. Margaret set a brisk pace, knowing that the two Starfleet officers with her would have no trouble keeping up. Finally they came to an access point to the trails and entered.

The paved trails ran along a small, gently bubbling creek. Birds, on a break from their migrations, stopped to drink or take short baths. Some ate the last of the season's berries that remained in the bushes along the banks. Margaret, Nyota, and Spock began down the pathway. Occasionally a leaf or two departed the canopy of trees and fell around them, leaves in shades of brown, rust, red, tan, and yellow. The trio slowed its pace to appreciate the scenery silently.

It was peaceful. It was calming. Certainly it was different from the secluded desert rock ledges that Spock had sought for refuge as a child. He often sat for hours, scanning the vistas below him, noting the many shades of brown, rust, red, tan, and yellow in the rocky and sandy landscape. No one bothered him there. No one expected anything of him. He could simply just be. Amanda worried about him whenever he ventured into the desert by himself, never knowing where he went. Despite her entreaties to tell her, he never did. He usually sought solace in this isolation when he did not want to upset her as he worked out matters of heritage—or tried to suppress them.

The peace he found here was different. It was less of a refuge, as he was running from nothing, but more of an embrace. He noted the contrast between the two.

As they walked some more, he began to wonder what made his mother leave her family and this environment. Amanda had told him many stories about her transition from Earth to Vulcan, but never about her move from her family to academics at Berkeley.

Nyota noticed that he was deep in thought. She looked up at him, and he caught her questioning eyes. He said nothing and remained without expression, but linked his arm with hers as they continued walking. She smiled, content with that, as was he.

Margaret had outpaced the two and gone ahead, approaching a bench that overlooked a small waterfall. She turned around to check on their progress behind her. What she saw reminded her of Sarek and Amanda when she first saw the pair together. Like his father, at this moment, Spock wore a mantel of quiet dignity, a tranquil composure. Nyota exuded the same poise and assured grace that Amanda had. As far as Margaret was concerned seeing this pair's silent interactions, marriage rite or not, they already shared a Vulcan-style marriage bond.

 _If only Amanda could have seen this…she would have been so happy,_ Margaret thought. Then, _Darn, where is my sketch pad when I need it?_ But she had the camera that she always brought along on her walks, and she pulled it from her pocket.

"Would you two mind if I took your picture?" she asked. "I don't have my sketch pad, but there's something about the light here that I would like to capture."

"I have no objection," Spock said. He had to admit he was fascinated by Margaret's creative process, though he was not entirely comfortable with it. The stories they had exchanged were, indeed, personal, and Margaret studied him in a way that he normally would have found invasive. However, she did not study him as an oddity, as most others did. Again, it was another new experience for him.

"Sure," Nyota said. "We haven't had our picture taken together since…. Wait, I don't think we've ever had our picture taken together ever except the one I used the autotimer for at your apartment, Spock."

"I do believe you are correct," he agreed. They had been so conscious of being discreet in their relationship as student and instructor, then as bridge officers, that they rarely took photos or holographs of themselves at all, and certainly never together.

"It's high time we fix that then," Margaret said. "Stand here."

She positioned her subjects near the waterfall, framed by a background of autumn colors. The golden autumn sun cast a warm glow on them from an angle just to their front and right, also illuminating the foliage behind them. Margaret took nearly a dozen pictures. She might have taken more, but she had worked with Sarek previously on a commissioned work and remembered his reserved discomfort with more than four or five photographs at a time. She then moved to the bench to review her photos on the camera's screen. Spock and Nyota followed and sat next to her as the three, by silent consent, took a break.

For once, Spock's voice broke the silence. "Margaret, may I pose a query regarding my mother?"

"Sure, anything…"

"Do you know what prompted her study of linguistics?"

"That's an easy one. The med student from Rigel we hosted, Torkuu D'shuuko. He was here on an exchange, on a three-month residency rotation at the Clinic. Amanda always had a thing for Terran languages, but after we had Torkuu with us, something clicked and she went nuts over extraterrestrial languages. Mom and Dad couldn't get enough tapes and other materials for her." Margaret chuckled. "We never knew what sounds were going to come out of her mouth after that. After all the whistling and clicking and humming, Dad had to implement 'Standard-only' rules for the dinner table.

"You know, maybe your parents were destined from the start because the language that captivated—and, yes, I mean _captivated_ —her the most was Vulcan. After graduation from prep school, she concentrated on xenolinguistics in college here, but she ended up at Berkeley because they had the advanced Vulcan Studies program she wanted, and, with the school being so close to the Vulcan Embassy, she actually had a chance to meet native Vulcan speakers." Margaret paused, smiling. "Clearly she did."

"As evidenced," Spock replied drily as Nyota bumped his side playfully in response.

Understated Vulcan humor—Margaret had to laugh. "Yes, as evidenced…," she agreed. "My sister was focused and driven, so I'm not surprised that when she decided to study Vulcan that she'd end up doing her doctoral work at the embassy. On the outside she was probably one of the calmest people you knew, but once she got an idea in her head, away she went until she won the point of discussion in class or found whatever obscure fact she needed to complete a project. She used to drive her teachers crazy. I think she intimidated some of them."

Although he remained facing forward, Spock looked at Nyota through the corner of his eye.

"Whaaat…why are you looking at _me_?" Nyota demanded, but smirking.

He said nothing. Margaret wondered if teasing was part of Vulcan culture, as, even with Spock's reserve, these two teased each other as much as Sarek and Amanda had in their more unguarded moments.

Finally Spock stood up. "I think it would be wise if we started back," he said.

"Oh, _yeah_ …let's start back," Nyota said in mock annoyance. "But you can walk back _by yourself_!"

"As you wish."

Nyota rolled her eyes. "Margaret, did Amanda ever find her Vulcan as _exasperating_ as I find mine?"

Margaret and Nyota laughed while Spock pointedly ignored them in his best display of Vulcan discipline and restraint as they began their return.


	8. Lady Amanda

After supper the four sat in the living room. Margaret continued to sketch, combining inspiration from the photos and from her life subject before her. Allen continued to be confounded by his project at work. He and Spock discussed the problems and solutions in great detail. This allowed Margaret to observe Spock in his role as scientist and instructor.

Spock was intense. His eye contact could be overwhelming to someone who did not know him as he took in the information Allen provided. He deftly synthesized, categorized, and analyzed, redirecting his lines of inquiry at different points based on a seemingly endless personal knowledge and experience base. Quietly, yet firmly, he led Allen through some of his more intricate points as he might have gently guided a student through a complex problem. Finally he supplied respectful explanations only as needed, often letting Allen grasp each new concept on his own.

Margaret, fascinated, involuntarily set her pencil aside. She could not help but be impressed at the vibrant intellect before her as Spock suggested option after option to Allen. It was true—Amanda had not been simply bragging, as many mothers did, when she spoke of her son's brilliance. Margaret glanced over at Nyota, whose expression said, _See, I told you_.

Nyota unobtrusively occupied herself in the corner next to a stack of family photo albums Margaret had set before her. Many of them contained images that Amanda had sent Margaret over the years, images whose twins had disappeared in Vulcan's destruction. Amanda tending one of her gardens. Sarek and members of his family. (Nyota guessed at that one.) The family's spacious home. Spock in academic robes. The desert view from the patio. So many things that made up Spock's personal history—gone.

After his encounter with the portrait this morning, Nyota understood why Spock did not want to look through them, at least not while on this visit as he constantly concentrated on maintaining his control. As Nyota looked through the photos, she was in danger of betraying her own sadness. She quietly duplicated the pictures while the opportunity was before her. When Spock was ready to look at them again, she would have them there for him.

"Margaret, we didn't hear about Amanda and Sarek's engagement earlier," Nyota said, trying to distract herself as her tricorder scanned another page. "How long did they go out before they married?"

"I'd say it was about 18 months before the engagement, but they were only engaged about six weeks before the Terran ceremony. The ceremony on Vulcan followed about 10 days later."

"Did you attend either ceremony?"

"Yes, the Terran one. I was Amanda's matron of honor…"

**-o0o-**

_[32 years earlier…]_

Margaret lifted her brush to add just one more highlight. There, her portrait of the latest Mayo Clinic director was complete. It would hang in the Clinic administrative wing's receiving foyer. She turned to clean her brush when her studio comm station beeped. It was Amanda's sequence. The screen confirmed it.

_CommLink Requestor: Amanda Grayson_

Margaret dropped her brush into the cleaning solution and ran up to the unit. "Accept," she said.

The instant Amanda's face appeared, Margaret knew her news. Her sister's face beamed, radiating a joy that could only mean one thing. Margaret smiled back. "So, Amanda, what's up?"

Amanda blushed, looked down briefly, then back up. "Sarek and I are getting married!"

"Gee, I couldn't see that one coming," Margaret joked. "That's great news. I'm so happy for you! Sarek, too. When's the big day?"

"In five or six weeks. We have not set an exact date yet."

"Five or six _weeks_? Wow, that's really quick. Is there some special reason you're hurrying…will Dad need to bring a shotgun?" Margaret joked again.

Amanda blushed even more. "No!" she exclaimed emphatically, taking Margaret's teasing well. "Margaret!"

The two shared a good laugh. Sarek was too proper, and Margaret knew it.

Amanda voice became more serious. "Maybe I spoke too soon. There is a reason for our timing. Sarek will be leaving for a new assignment on Vulcan in seven weeks. We did not wish to be parted. It is time. We are ready."

"You're leaving Earth?" Margaret had a sudden pang of loss. She missed Amanda already. "Omigosh, this is for real... What did Mom and Dad say?"

"I haven't told them yet."

Margaret imagined her parents' reaction. Despite their support for Amanda, it had been hard enough for them to accept Amanda and Sarek's dating relationship. Marriage—and all that entailed—might be a different thing entirely. Amanda's departure would put the Graysons' daughter in an alien culture and under a jurisdiction outside of their reach. They were not exactly losing their daughter, but, to them, it might be close.

"Whoa…," Margaret breathed out. "Well, there's no avoiding it."

"No, there is not."

"Tell me about the wedding. What do you plan to do? Margaret asked, changing the topic to avoid further awkwardness.

"There will be two ceremonies, one here, one on Vulcan. For our ceremony here, we will follow Terran traditions. There will be no 'kissing the bride,' though."

"That'll come later," Margaret grinned.

"You're terrible!" Amanda said, blushing again, but her eyes flashed their warning. "You better behave!"

"I can pull it together when I have to."

"Promise?"

Margaret giggled, but she knew the diplomatic ramifications of overstepping the bounds of Vulcan etiquette. "Don't worry. I won't embarrass you or Sarek. Geesh, I can't imagine embarrassing Sarek. He's one of those guys that you wouldn't dare embarrass. I don't know that I could even if I wanted to."

"I'm glad to hear it."

"So, after you're married, do I have to start calling you 'Ambassadress' or 'Your Most Excellent Grand Diva'?"

"Very funny." But Margaret's question caught Amanda off-guard. "You know, I don't know. Sarek has sent for his cousin to teach me the ways of Vulcan women before we marry. She arrives the day after next. I imagine she will know. Or someone around here will inform me."

"You'd think with all the time you spent at the embassy and with Sarek that you'd know all that by now."

"There are some topics that Vulcans do not discuss with non-Vulcans."

"Doesn't that secrecy concern you?"

"I would be lying if I did not admit to some apprehension," Amanda replied. "Vulcan society is a closed one. It was not unexpected." She nodded to herself as if she were accepting the fact.

A wave of concern welled in Margaret. "Are you sure about this? You and Sarek seem good together, but…I'm stating the obvious, and I don't want to sound like Dad. I know that you have thought about it and researched it to death, but is there anything you want to talk about before you do this? I'm not trying to stop you, but I would feel better knowing that you were absolutely sure."

Amanda seemed to mull a few thoughts in her head before she spoke. "I appreciate that. I do." She paused. "Sarek is Vulcan, and I am human, but above that we are male and female whose personalities complement one another. I feel completed by him. I am sure."

"Good. This is the last time I'll ever ask. Really, I am happy for you. Unhappy for me because you'll be leaving soon—that's not good—but don't doubt that I'll support you, no matter what."

The reality that her sister would be lightyears away from her hit, and she felt sadness, but from their many conversations, Margaret understood that Amanda and Sarek belonged together.

"Thank you," Amanda said, touched. "Now that I have your blessing, there is something else I need to talk to you about."

"Yes?"

"Would you be my matron of honor?"

Margaret squealed. "Oh, why do you even ask? Of course I will!"

**-o0o-**

By this time, Allen and Spock had stopped talking to one another and listened in on Margaret's story.

"When I accepted the role of matron of honor, I had no idea what I was in for," she said. "It was like diplomatic boot camp. Federation advisors on Vulcan culture, etiquette, conflict avoidance. Security clearances and protection—and here I thought I was just going to stand with my sister on her wedding day, not secure peace in the galaxy."

"At least the security people kept the press off the front lawn," Allen said.

"What was the wedding like?" Nyota was eager for details. "Was it at the embassy?"

"It was, held in the central garden. I don't think that they decorated it in any special way, but it did not need it. It was already a beautiful setting. The ceremony was held at sunset, and most of the illumination came from torches and candles, and I thought it was neat how the light reflected off the tans and reds of the walls. Spock, there is one thing that I've noticed with Vulcans through the years, and that is their extensive use of candles."

"A candle's flame has spiritual representations and provides meditative focus," he said.

"Well, they sure added a lovely glow. It was absolutely _magical_."

Spock wondered briefly why Margaret would associate his parents' Terran wedding with the supernatural or paranormal, but thought better of commenting on it. He would ask Nyota about it later.

Nyota continued. "How many guests were there? What did everyone wear?"

"Allen, how many would you say?"

Allen mentally took a count of the people he remembered in his mind. "Hmm, there were about 20 from our side of the family. Sarek had six or seven from his family, but then he had his aides and their spouses, so that was probably 30. Then there were the Federation President and Council and all their spouses, so that's another 20. Plus a bunch of representatives from Embassy Row…. I'd say there were about 100 to 110, not included security and embassy staff."

"Yes," Margaret agreed. "That's about right. They kept it smaller to keep it from becoming a big spectacle. They invited only closer friends and family, plus those of diplomatic necessity. But that was it. It was supposed to be a wedding, nothing else. I think they did pretty well."

"And the dress?" Nyota prompted again.

"It was the traditional white and modest, very modest. It was floor-length with long sleeves. She was covered from the neck down. But the dress had the most intricate beadwork along the neckline, hem, and cuffs. It was both simple and complex. She just sparkled. Oh, and she did not have a veil. Amanda and I wore white flowers in our hair instead. Sarek's robes were the ones he wore for the most formal of occasions. My goodness, they had to weigh a ton with all that fabric and the beads and stones. He had to have four or five layers on."

Margaret continued. "The ceremony lasted about 30 minutes, and the officiant spoke a great deal about different people from different worlds coming together and creating something bigger than themselves…. I guess it was the IDIC philosophy, now that I think about it. The vows were not that much different than they are for most Terran weddings. But the difference was that after she took her vows, my sister Amanda was no longer just my sister Amanda, nor was she just a newly married woman—she became Lady Amanda Grayson, wife and bondmate of Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Readers Outside the United States: You might be confused about why Margaret asks Amanda, "...will Dad need to bring a shotgun?" It comes from the term "shotgun wedding." A shotgun wedding happens in situations where a prospective groom is reluctant to marry, but the bride's parents want to ensure that the marriage happens. So, the bride's father brings a gun to "persuade" the boy to take his wedding vows.
> 
> Here, Margaret is suggesting (she is joking) that their father would force Sarek to marry Amanda because Amanda is pregnant. 
> 
> Thought you'd want to know ...


	9. Devotion

_Running, running, running.  
_ _Run faster! Mother, please, run faster!  
_ _Enterprise, beam us up now! NOW!  
_ _Mother…. Mother?  
_ _Wha…? Where? …!_

He gasped as consciousness returned and his vision cleared. The room was dark. He was sitting upright on his bed, uncovered. How did he get this way? Spock reached for the light on the nightstand, but it was not there.

Footsteps outside. A knock on the door. "Spock?" It was Nyota. The door latch clicked, and the door opened a crack. "Spock, are you OK?"

He tried to calm himself, but she had already heard his uneven breathing. Nyota touched the switch to the room's main light, which revealed blankets and pillows strewn across the floor and the nightstand lamp and chronometer down with them.

Everyone in the household had retired to their rooms three hours ago. Nyota had awakened when her excellent hearing picked up the vibration of something hitting a floor somewhere. She had to investigate. Seeing nothing amiss in the hallway, she decided to check up on Spock. Surely the same sound had awakened him as well.

After quietly calling to him, she opened the door and turned on the light. His bedding was on the floor, the lamp and other items knocked from the nightstand. Spock himself was in as much disarray as the room. His hair stood out every which way, and his pajamas twisted in uncomfortable configurations along his long body. What pulled at her most were his eyes. Something in them made him look just…lost.

In the light and now wide awake, Spock tried to reassert his thoughts as he surveyed the room, making an effort to return to rationality and order. He moved to the edge of the bed to begin the clean-up.

"Stay right there," Nyota said gently. "Don't move. I'll get this." She grabbed the pillows and returned them to the bed.

"Nyota, I—"

She put two fingers to his lips. "Sh-sh-sh…," she soothed. She gathered the blankets, smoothed them out, and covered the very confused Vulcan who remained sitting up on the bed. Fortunately the lamp and chronometer from the nightstand remained intact, and she returned them to their familiar places. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her hands around his face. " _Ashayam_ , what happened?"

Her worried brown eyes beckoned him to confide in her. He looked down. His uneven emotional state had burdered her during the past six months, and he did not wish to continue this pattern. But he did not want to keep any more secrets from her. At this point in their relationship, any temptation to do so was long past.

"I dreamt about the emergency beam-out from Vulcan," he admitted.

Although Nyota did not know the details, what he was really saying was that he had the recurring nightmare about Amanda again, the one where he saw the terror in her eyes as she was pulled from him. The one where he reached for her only to have his grasp fall short. The one where his world and his heart crumbled simultaneously. It always left him gasping with loss and guilt. He had not had that nightmare in months.

Perhaps this was not unexpected. After the episode with the portrait, Spock had confessed his need to allow his grief. Maybe the nightmare's return was a manifestation of that revelation.

Nyota was afraid that the nightmare, as well as Spock's inexperience with expressing any grief at all, might send him back into his Vulcan shell. So much of this was new to him, and Vulcan culture actively discouraged it. Already she could see him brace himself, struggling to control his breathing, posture, and facial expression. He was reaching for familiar coping strategies.

Nyota refused to let him suppress his grief again. He needed release, and perhaps here, in his aunt's comforting home, away from the distractions of duty and Starfleet, was where he finally might find it.

She smoothed his hair back into place, stroked his cheek, and kissed him twice on the lips. "Move over."

He shook his head. "Nyota, it is not proper. As guests, we—"

"No one is going to be doing anything improper," she broke in. "You need me here." She stroked his cheek softly again, then tilted his chin up to bring his gaze to her. He did not resist. "Let me help."

He seemed torn between accepting her help and trying to reassert some stoicism.

"Spock, this is part of grieving. It hurts, and we hate it, but we go through it, otherwise we can't go on with our lives." She kissed him again, this time on his temple, comforting, coaxing and encouraging him. "It would be easier to ignore if you could, but that's not going to be an option for you—human, Vulcan, or both. It is about you, your mother, and your bond. You can never replace it. It's OK to mourn your loss. Really."

She trailed her palm from his cheek, down his neck, and to his shoulder. His breathing deepened. Nyota sensed his intensity as he felt his grief. He said nothing as he tried to maintain some semblance of control. His eyes, though, gave him away. He hurt.

Nyota had trouble not breaking down herself. She had seen the devotion between mother and son that Margaret had captured in the portrait, and his reaction to it spoke volumes about how deeply devoted to Amanda he had been. His pain stabbed at her own heart. She was determined, however, to guide him.

"Sweetheart, move over, please."

He complied. He was tired and unsettled. She walked to the switch to the main light and switched it off before climbing into bed next to him. In the darkness he stared at the ceiling as he felt her reaching across his chest and finding his wrist.

"Give me your hand."

His hand found hers. She placed her cool palm against his warm one, then fingertips to fingertips as she invited a mild telepathic connection. She sensed mild resistance from him initially, but he followed her instructions.

"We're going to take this slowly," she reassured him. "It doesn't happen all at once, and it shouldn't. It's a process." She kissed him again, this time on the cheek. "Give me your thoughts, show me what you feel…," she whispered, nuzzling against his neck and collarbone.

For one of the few times in his life, Spock was scared. In allowing human grief, he had miscalculated. This was not what he had expected. To do what Nyota asked, he had to bare himself as he never had in his adult life. Again his Vulcan mind rebelled, recoiled at what he now had to attempt. Losing emotional control was disgusting, shameful, but some part of him ached for the release.

Nyota's lips were now at his jawline. "Tell me …"

Intellectually he realized how expert Nyota had become at breaking down his barriers. His emotions sat just below the surface. He was relieved that the room was dark as he felt the first tremor within himself. He did not want her to witness his lapse as his eyes closed and the muscles in his chest involuntarily constricted. What was he doing? Was he mad?

"It's OK… _Ashayam_ , it's OK…just a little bit at a time…slowly…"

Her soothing words, her warm presence, her patience, her acceptance…Spock's body shuddered. His head thrashed to one side as a wave of grief overcame him. He wanted to run.

Nyota gently pressed her fingertips harder against his. "Show me here," she urged.

He released a surge of sadness, regret, and guilt. He inhaled, almost gulping the air. He felt pressure against his closed eyelids. His mind raced, and he could not stop himself. Were those tears? His shoulders drew upwards as he fought another shudder. How could this be "OK"?

But Nyota continued her encouragement. "Let it go…let it go…." More gentle kisses. More endearments.

Suddenly the sorrow that had been too great to acknowledge erupted, and he broke. At first he closed his eyes tightly and set his jaw hard. However, emotion forced them free of his control. His sobs were quiet, but the tears flowed freely. He could not speak. It was too hard. He was ashamed at his inability to control the flood of irrational thought and feeling that he, himself, had allowed.

"Slowly…slowly…. Sh-sh-sh…."

He tried to regulate his breathing, counting his breaths. Another pang of sadness shot through their link, and Nyota felt her own abdomen clench as Spock's grief again resonated through his body. His pain came as much from his resistance as it did from his emotional anguish. He felt weak, and this in itself caused him more distress.

Nyota felt his struggle intensify. "Share with me…please…"

Spock tried to calm himself enough to concentrate. He removed his fingertips from Nyota's to seek the telepathic contact points on her face. Nyota reached his face in return, granting him permission to meld with her.

_She left the darkness and found herself surrounded by chaotic cracking and crashing as boulders rolled by her. Her body flooded with anxiety as she realized that she stood on a crumbling precipice. The ground below was disappearing into the magma that now burst from the planet's interior. Acrid smoke hung in the air while the rock below her feet vibrated. She was impatient. Where was the transporter beam?_

_The woman just a couple meters away looked back at her, fear in her eyes, disbelief of the scene before them both. Confusion. But relief at being in Nyota's care. The transporter? Why were they not beaming out?_

_The swirls of energy commenced, signaling the start of the process. The planet's surface began to disintegrate. The woman cried out, her high-pitched scream hung in the air, and she was gone._

_Nyota choked, her mind screaming back in desperation as she felt herself reach to grasp at the spot where the woman just stood less than a second earlier. Her chest burst in pain. Her heart ripped. Her stomach heaved._

_Gone._

_And now, as she stood with the other survivors in a transporter room, she never felt so alone. Desperately alone. Shocked…stunned…drained…conflicted…angry._

_Heartbroken._

Nyota and Spock had shared themselves in melds before, but he had carefully hidden that memory. It had been too excruciating to relive. Nyota now knew the emptiness and guilt he had felt at Amanda's loss, the pain he lived with every day after his mother was so violently torn from him.

 _I am so sorry_ , Nyota's mind told his. _I am here for you. I will always be here for you. Show me what you need._

There was no hesitance in his thoughts. _You._

_You have me. I am yours. Let me help..._

He found comfort. Her declaration freed him, and his thoughts and emotions came in rapid waves.

_Grief for Amanda._   
_Despair for the loss of Vulcan._   
_Anger at Nero._   
_Frustration at his own inability to prevent the devastation…_

Nyota reassured him, sending him compassion and support.

 _Depression, self-doubt_ …

He was vulnerable. He worried about his worthiness of her. In his failure to save his world, he felt worthy of nothing.

 _Spock_ … Nyota's thoughts embraced his essence, trying to soothe him in a loving warmth.

Minutes went by until she felt him release some of the hurt as he sought some peace with her. She continued to smile at him in her thoughts while she felt herself rise through the layers of consciousness as Spock ended the meld. As she regained awareness, she was most aware of him leaning over her, delivering passionate, almost desperate kisses to her forehead, then to her lips. Their link had not completely broken; she could still feel his thoughts.

His passion was not one of desire or lust.

 _Admiration…gratitude…appreciation…affection…  
_ _Devotion.  
_ _Trust._

He embraced her closely and gently. Never had Nyota felt more wanted or valued, and she accepted his attentions gratefully. When she thought that she could not fall more deeply in love with him, his commitment to her won her heart again. She wound her arms around him in return, knowing that he finally was allowing himself to feel his losses. The grieving he needed to re-center himself had, perhaps, only just started. But it was a good start.

She occasionally stroked his face and his chest as they held one another while he calmed. She continued to whisper endearments and assurances, comforting him until sometime, a couple hours later, they fell asleep.


	10. Visionary, Benefactor, Friend

Spock awoke a few hours later. It was early, and it was still dark outside. He rubbed his sore eyes—he was unaccustomed to the aftereffects of tears. Taking a few deep breaths, he assessed his own emotional state. The tightness in his chest was gone. He was hungry and thirsty. He also craved movement, physical exertion.

Nyota remained next to him, sleeping peacefully, curled up under multiple blankets, nested comfortably with both pillows. (When had she stolen his?) Her deep, slow, even breathing and movement underneath her eyelids indicated REM sleep. He might have contented himself by observing her for longer, but his own physical discomforts demanded attention. Slowly, he rolled off the bed and set his feet to the floor, careful to minimize his noise and movement as he grabbed a small gym duffle and hygiene items. His feet found his slippers, and he quietly exited the room and made his way to the hallway bathroom. There he washed his face, combed his hair, and changed from pajamas to his Starfleet Academy sweatpants and sweatshirt. Putting his pajamas and slippers into the duffle, he exchanged them for his socks and running shoes. On his way back through the hallway to the stairwell, he deposited the duffle in Nyota's room—he could retrieve it later. Finally he slipped his communicator into his front pocket.

He needed to maintain physical conditioning, and he had not exercised vigorously in a few days. He decided to take a run along the biking and walking trail that he, Margaret, and Nyota had walked the day before. The scenery had been pleasant. The course was evident. It would be difficult to get lost.

Quietly Spock descended the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. He drained a glass of water and grabbed a banana from the bowl of fruit on the kitchen table. The banana was sweet, sweeter than he usually liked his food, but today he craved it, and it satisfied him. He disposed of the peel and was ready to grab his cap and gloves when he passed the door to the study.

He paused. Inside hung the portrait that had undone him yesterday, and he willed himself to confront it. He stepped inside the room and rounded the corner. There Amanda smiled at him in the dim light of dawn that began to glow faintly through the window. This morning her smile reminded him of the one she shared with him on the day the ministers of his primary school announced the student rankings—that is, when Sarek had not been looking. Spock had ranked first. It was a pleasant memory for Spock, not because of his achievement, but because it had made Amanda happy.

A bit of sadness fluttered his heart, but the memory's pleasantness lingered, too. He remained relaxed and, he noted, his respiratory rate remained consistent.

Spock tore a sheet of paper from a pad on Allen's desk, wrote a brief note, and left it on the kitchen table where Nyota, Margaret, and Allen would find it easily. He then turned and quietly walked through the foyer and exited through the front door, walked to the street, then began a slow jog. When he reached the trail's access point, he broken out into a full run. Despite the frosty air, it felt good. The effects of the cold would diminish as he worked up his own body heat. He felt his joints and muscles loosen when he passed the second kilometer.

The sun broke the horizon, sending an orange glow onto the dark bark of the oak trees that dominated this part of the trail. He passed the small waterfall where Margaret had taken his and Nyota's picture. It was hard to see, being obscured by the long shadows of early morning. But the dogwood trees' red bark added interest against the tan and brown grasses that surrounded them.

Slowly other joggers, walkers, and cyclists began to populate the trail from other access points as Spock ran on. He blurred by oncomers, and his speed overtook several moving in the same direction from behind. Although his Vulcan ears and eyebrows did not attract attention, as his cap covered them sufficiently, his swift pace, long strides, and red Starfleet Academy sweatshirt prompted several people to attempt a second look. But by time they did, he was long gone.

After 10 kilometers, he looked for an appropriate place to take a break. He was approaching a small park to the right, so he exited the trail and walked to a short stone retaining wall where he lifted one leg to the top to stretch it out, then repeated the stretch with the other. He was about to work on his ankles next when a splash of color caught his notice. Farther into the park a garden with several flower beds, pathways, and wooden benches stood out. In one of the beds a gardener tended several varieties of hearty, late-blooming varieties that shared the last of their season's splendor. A fountain anchored the middle while brick-paved walkways spoked out to buildings around the perimeter of a generous greenspace.

Medical personnel in their lab coats and scrubs mingled with others in civilian clothes. Most ambled slowly and quietly, stopping to admire a bloom, ornamental grass, or groundcover set in an artful grouping of boulders.

Spock noted that most of the garden was devoted to roses, his mother's favorite flower. She had managed to grow a couple hot-weather varieties on Vulcan. With this cooler climate, Spock wondered about the varieties that grew here. As he approached to inspect them more closely, he noticed a plaque next to the fountain. It looked like it had been recently installed.

_Dedicated To The Memory Of  
_ _**AMANDA GRAYSON  
** _ _Visionary, Benefactor, Friend_

His eyes went wide before he caught himself. What was this? What connection did his mother have with this garden? He stared at the plaque as he considered the possibilities, but found he had insufficient information. He stood there for several minutes, contemplating.

"Did you know her?" came a voice from behind. Spock turned his head. It was the gardener.

The irony did not escape him. "Yes, I did," he replied, turning his attention back the plaque. Perhaps he could find out more. "Do you know why she is memorialized here?

A flicker of recognition sparked across the gardener's face. Something about this visitor was familiar. He walked around to get a better look at Spock. The Starfleet Academy sweatshirt confirmed it. "You're her son!"

"Yes, I am."

The man's expression was one of pleasant shock. "Amanda's son…this is an honor," he said brightly. "Hello, I'm David Swenson. I knew Amanda in prep school. She was a very, very good friend."

Spock thought for a moment. The name was familiar. "Mother made mention of you," he said slowly. "You once accompanied her to a function called a 'prom'?" Amanda told him that proms were a rite of passage for Terran school-aged adolescents as they approached adulthood. She compared it to an embassy ball without the diplomacy. Although, she had slyly noted, social politics were often involved, including, in some cases, the selection of future mates. But that had not been true in his mother's case.

Hearing the mention of a prom from a Vulcan struck Swenson as funny, and he chuckled. "Yes, I did. I'm surprised she would have mentioned it." He extended his hand toward a bench. "Here, have a seat. I'll be happy to tell you about the garden. I could use a break."

Spock did so. Swenson seemed pleased.

"Never in a million years would I have expected to meet you here," he said. "It looks like you were just out for a jog."

"I was," Spock said. "My presence here is quite by accident."

"Ah, maybe not," Swenson said thoughtfully, "I don't know what your beliefs are, but maybe you were meant to find this place."

Spock considered running the statistical probabilities in his head, but decided to follow advice Nyota often gave him in Terran social situations: _Just go with it, Spock._

"Now, about our garden…," Swenson began. "As you can see, there are various clinics around us. They are all subclinics of the Mayo Clinic system. But these clinics, in particular, deal with the toughest cases, the ones where the patients are not expected to survive for long, so most of the treatments are palliative.

"Your mother had a big heart. She saw how hard dealing with a grave illness was on the patients' families. She wanted to give them a pleasant retreat while their loved ones were under treatment here. So she decided to create a garden filled with beautiful flowers, someplace where these people could step out for just a bit and find a place where they could think about something other than sickness and death for a while.

"She went before the Mayo administrators and got permission to put the garden on this property. She got donations of flowers and bushes from garden centers and avid gardeners throughout the town. She got the whole school involved, plus volunteers from a couple gardening societies to lay out, plant, and maintain it. Once she got going on this, there was no stopping her."

He smiled. "Even after she left for school at Berkeley, she continued to raise funds for the upkeep. Eventually there were enough credits to create a perpetual trust fund for this garden and for a couple of others. Volunteers like myself keep them in good shape."

Then the man closed his eyes. "We always called this place 'Grayson Garden,' although it never had a formal name. But after…you know…," his voice cracked slightly, hesitating to mention Vulcan's destruction directly. "It seemed fitting that we name it after her."

Spock nodded, scanning the beds. Amanda had worked on many such projects during her life on many worlds, even on Vulcan itself. Her efforts were an asset to Sarek's career, winning respect from Vulcan's diplomatic hierarchy. Swenson's eyes watered. Spock noticed.

"Sir, are you indisposed?"

"Sorry," he replied. "She was a great woman. I owe your mother my life."

"How so?" Spock asked, curious. "If my query is too intrusive, please disregard it."

Swenson looked upward. "Amanda Grayson was the angel who came into my life when I was really messed up…," he began, then he shook his head. Amanda's son was Vulcan and probably needed a more straightforward approach.

"In my younger days, I had a lot of problems," he began again. "My family was dysfunctional, so there was no support at home. I was depressed. I had no direction in my life. I felt like I was always on the outside." He stopped. He did not want to offend his Vulcan visitor. "Sorry, stupid emotions."

Spock could relate to feeling "on the outside," but did not say so. "Apologies are unnecessary," he said. "Turbulent emotional states are common in human adolescents."

"Well, that's one way of putting it. My turbulence got to the point where I was close to suicide," Swenson continued. "Now, I don't know why or how, but somehow your mother must have known or sensed something because she took me under her wing. Long story short, she made sure that I knew that at least one person cared about me and how I was. She checked in with me every day. She became a friend, which is something I needed the most.

"She was popular, but she never dated anyone. So I have no idea why she asked me to go to the prom with her as her friend. But that was a real turning point for me. If Amanda Grayson thought I was worth bringing to the prom, then I had to be worth something, and, from that day on, I set out to make something of myself. Eventually I went on to college where I met my wife. Now I have a wonderful family, and I am the head dietician here at the Clinic. So when I heard that she…well…." He turned to Spock. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"I grieve with you on yours," he replied, using a common Vulcan reply of sympathy. "I believe that she would have appreciated your work here," he added.

Months of memorial services had taught Spock that most humans appreciated such sentiments, though this sentiment was simple truth. Amanda had often emphasized the value of service to others. Clearly her own commitment to such endeavors began well before she met Sarek. Spock noted that his mother was always true to herself. Even if he could not emulate it, it was a quality he always admired in her.

Suddenly his communicator beeped. He retrieved it from his pocket. "Excuse me, Mr. Swenson," he said flipping the device open. "Spock here."

"Spock, where are you?" It was Nyota. She sounded worried, really worried.

Spock, for once, did not know exactly where he was. He threw a questioning glace at Swenson.

"You're at Mayo Clinic D-3."

Nyota heard the information. " _Ashayam_! Are you hurt? What happened?"

"I am well. I have been running to maintain physical conditioning standards. I am resting."

"Why didn't you tell anyone where you were going?"

"You did not find the note on the kitchen table?"

"What note?" she asked. Spock sensed that she was relieved, but annoyed.

In the background, Allen's voice interrupted. "Uh, Nyota, it was stuck here under my plate."

Then Margaret's muffled voice. "How could you not have seen that? Didn't you look before you stuck your plate there?"

Then Nyota. "Uh, never mind.… When are you coming back?"

"I will start back shortly. I am approximately 10.2 kilometers away. Assuming a pace of—"

"—Spock, don't worry about calculating the time. Just get back safely, OK? We were worried sick!"

Swenson smiled at the interchange. Spock kept his expression neutral to mask shy embarrassment.

"I shall make it a priority," he stated, closing the device.

The two sat in silence for an awkward moment.

"Girlfriend?" Swenson asked, eyebrows raised.

Spock looked at a point off in the distance.

"Terran?" he asked again.

Spock reluctantly nodded confirmation. It was illogical to hide the obvious truth.

Swenson chuckled. "Then you better get going, Young Man, before you get in trouble!" He winked. "And was that Maggie Grayson I heard?"

"Maggie?"

"Margaret. She and Amanda used to tease me and call me 'Davey,' so I called them 'Maggie' and 'Mandy.' Tell Maggie that Davey sends his regards, and I'll be sure to call her and Allen sometime soon."

"I shall."

"It was a pleasure meeting you."

"I found our meeting edifying as well, Mr. Swenson." Spock stood up, and Swenson did the same. Spock lifted his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Sir."

The older man smiled. "And every bit of luck and success to you."

Spock turned and returned to the trail for the run back.


	11. Connections

Five minutes passed before Nyota's heart slowed down from its frantic pumping after she, Allen, and Margaret discovered Spock missing. Nyota had torn through the house looking for him until Margaret suggested that she try calling him. As a communications officer, she felt stupid for not thinking of it first, and it was not like her to lose all coherent thought, even in an emergency.

"When are you coming back?" she had asked him.

His voice was even through the communicator speaker. "I will start back shortly. I am approximately 10.2 kilometers away. Assuming a pace of—"

She did not need to know exactly when. She was just relieved. "Spock, don't worry about calculating the time. Just get back safely, OK? We were worried sick!"

"I shall make it a priority," he said before closing the call.

The previous night had been difficult, and she was running on just a few hours' sleep and recovering from the emotional transference of a mind meld. After concentrating on being supportive to her grieving significant other over the last month, she had not realized how much of her own energy she had expended. The worry and stress, not just for him, but for starting a new job in a responsible position on the Federation's flagship soon after the traumatic encounter with Nero had finally caught up with her. She set down her own communicator, cradled her face into her palms, and rubbed her forehead with her fingers.

"Nyota, dear, what's wrong?" Margaret asked. She doubted that this capable woman would be so upset over Spock's brief disappearance for a workout. This was out of character.

Allen felt bad. "I'm sorry about the note," he said.

Nyota half-laughed. "It's not about the note. I'm just tired. I didn't sleep much last night. I'm sorry."

"What's got you going?" he asked. "There's nothing wrong between you two, is there?"

"No, no, no…nothing like that."

Margaret's intuition kicked in. "But you were really worried about him, and it was not for his physical safety, was it?" She was sympathetic, and her warm voice invited Nyota's confidence.

Nyota could not resist Margaret's comforting demeanor, which, as she had seen in Spock's thoughts, was so much like Amanda's. "It's a combination of things," she began. "You know all about the Battle of Vulcan and our battle with Nero. With half the fleet gone, it's been non-stop ever since. But I can handle that. I've always been good with time management, and I love my work."

Margaret reached over and squeezed her arm supportively.

"I've lost so many friends. My roommate, Gaila…" Nyota's voice caught at her Orion friend's name. "…most of my graduating class, my instructors…I saw the wreckage of their ships before Vulcan imploded. Lately, while we've been on break, I've been thinking about it—a lot. And then Spock, last night…"

Margaret and Allen listened attentively as Nyota continued.

"I heard noise from his room, and I had to check it out. He was having a nightmare of the last time he saw his mother. I never knew…" Tears sprung to her brown eyes—it was that mind meld emotional transference again. Margaret handed her a tissue. "He showed me the dream. I saw what he saw, and felt what he felt, when he saw her disappear into the planet, everything crumbling all around him. You don't want to know what it was like…"

Margaret's own eyes began to water, but she kept herself in check. "He shared it with you telepathically?"

Nyota nodded.

Allen swallowed. Spock had seen Amanda disappear before his eyes? Allen suddenly felt guilty for some of his own assumptions about his nephew's demeanor at Amanda's service. Spock's cold, distant disposition was probably more a defense mechanism than a facet of his Vulcan upbringing. He was amazed that Spock had been functional. Nyota, too. Plus all those officers, enlisted personnel, and cadets on all those starships. Nothing in Allen's life had ever approached the demands that Nyota and Spock had encountered during their short time in space. He was uncertain, in similar circumstances, how he would have measured up. He had a renewed respect for the people who served in Starfleet.

"I stayed with him until he fell asleep. So this morning, when he was gone, I was so worried, and it sent me over the edge…" Nyota shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not normally this flighty. Everything finally got to me."

Margaret got up from her chair, reached around Nyota, and hugged her hard. "You two have been through a lot, you poor kids."

"I think the two of you have more than earned the right to throw a few breakables against a wall somewhere," said Allen. "I may have a few ugly vases down in the basement, if you're interested."

Nyota laughed, sniffling between tears.

"I don't think I can picture our young man doing that," Margaret smirked, despite the tears she tried to keep out of her own eyes. "Too illogical."

"Don't make any assumptions," Nyota warned, appreciating Margaret and Allen's light humor. "He's been hanging around me too long."

"Seriously, is there anything we can do to help you?" Allen asked. He had grown to like the younger woman. His nephew was starting to grow on him as well.

Nyota looked tired. "I think I could use a soak in the tub and a nap later this afternoon." How long ago had it been since she had a good, long soak in a tub? Or a nap? She could not remember.

Margaret brightened. "Allen and I have a nice whirlpool tub in our master bathroom. I'll set you up there. Just let me know when you're ready."

"Really? Oh, that would be great!"

Margaret poured Nyota a cup of tea and set it before her. "And how can we help Spock?"

Nyota thought for a moment. "You're already doing it. You're honestly trying to get to know him, and you're letting him be himself."

"Of course. We're family."

"There are no guarantees, even for family. Except for Sarek, I think his Vulcan family barely tolerated him. He changes the topic whenever I've brought them up."

Margaret sighed. "You're right. Amanda used to talk about that. 'What is so logical about baseless xenophobia?' she would say. And then she'd say, 'My son can do no right as far as these people are concerned.' Did you know that she was secretly happy when Spock turned down the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"Hmm, so am I!" Nyota exclaimed. "Except it's no secret!"

The three laughed, then Margaret continued. "Oh, she was so mad when she finally got Sarek to tell her what they said. She said that if the Vulcan Science Academy was too stupid to appreciate his mind and his talents for what they were, they did not deserve him. She was proud when he chose to come to Earth, and she knew he would do well in Starfleet. She hoped that he would find her half of him here. Do you think he has?"

Nyota considered. "That's a work-in-progress, I think. This visit with you may be helping him more than any of us knows."

**-o0o-**

The front door flew open as Spock, breathing heavily from his run back, stumbled in. He paused in the foyer as he quickly deposited his cap and gloves on the small valet table there, tried to catch his breath, and scanned the various doorways and entryways to the other rooms. The study was empty. The living room was empty. At the far end of the hallway was Margaret and Allen's bedroom—no one should be in there this time of day. Perhaps the kitchen…

He did not have to look further. Nyota heard him enter and ran out to greet him, followed by Allen and Margaret. But before she could say anything, he grabbed both of her hands and pressed his forehead to hers. His thoughts flowed to her mind.

_I apologize._

He knew that she had been distressed, and he knew that he was the cause. Many times throughout their relationship, he missed Nyota's cues that indicated that he had upset her, especially when he had done so inadvertently. Most times she was understanding, accepting these episodes as endemic in a human-Vulcan relationship, patiently explaining to him the source of her discontent. Sometimes her hurt was founded, sometimes it was another cultural misunderstanding that they resolved. And then they would move on.

But he endeavored to learn from each episode, analyze its elements—whether logical or not—and improve his ability to avoid future situations, or at least understand them better. Even now, as he caught his breath from his 10-kilometer sprint back, he observed the remnants of her previous worry. She looked tired, and she looked like she had been crying.

His urgency surprised her. "No-no-no…," she said aloud, her voice trailing to a whisper. _You've done nothing wrong_ , she said in her thoughts.

His mind bumped back. _Concern._

_I'm OK._

_Doubt._

_I'll be OK. I'm happy you're safe. It's OK._

The scene before them intrigued Allen and Margaret. The two younger people stood in silent communion. Although neither moved, and their eyes were closed, clearly they were deep in conversation.

Margaret wondered how many conversations Amanda and Sarek had this way and what it was like. How many levels of thought, information, and emotion did they exchange? In describing her bond with Sarek, Amanda said that she could always feel him in the back of her mind, and he could feel her in the back of his. Margaret had seen a demonstration of that bond once when a squirrel in the yard surprised Amanda when it ran across her toes, and Sarek came from inside the house to see what had surprised her.

As Spock and Nyota continued their silent conversation, Allen amused himself as he reflected on his marriage into the Grayson family. Surprise after surprise—he was used to them by now. Howard and Jeanne Grayson had been accomplished professionals in their day, each well-respected in their fields with kilometer-long lists of achievements and interests. Margaret, though somewhat of a free spirit, had also been focused on her portraiture, winning her own acclaim throughout Federation art circles. The Grayson cousins, aunts, uncles, and other relations were just as lively, and conversations never went flat at a Grayson family gathering.

And then there was Amanda. Once his sister-in-law married Sarek of Vulcan, all bets were off. He had been thrown within the sphere of celebrity and high diplomacy, and he had to admit that he enjoyed being an observer with a front row seat and few formal obligations. "Boring" long ago ceased being an adjective he could use to describe his life.

He also had to admit how much he had come to care for and respect the people behind the fame. Amanda, of course, had the same warmth, depth, and intelligence that Margaret had, enough to win the heart of a Vulcan and nearly everyone else she met. No one could describe Sarek as being warm, but he was approachable and seemed eager to acquaint himself with Allen on multiple levels. Unfailingly he had been respectful to his in-laws, despite his own status and prominence. Spock was an overachiever, even by Grayson standards. He and Nyota were dedicated to their service and, Allen could see before him, to one another. The more Allen learned about them, the more loyalty he felt toward them. They were good kids.

Nyota smiled as she and Spock parted. "You had an interesting morning."

"What happened?" Margaret asked.

"Mr. 'Davey' Swenson sends his regards," Spock answered. "He asked me to relay that he will be calling you soon."

"You met Davey!? Where?"

"He was tending a garden dedicated to Mother."

Allen knew the garden. "You ran all the way down there and back? Geesh, Spock, you're fast."

"We haven't seen him in about a year," Margaret said. "I'm so glad that you met him. Did he tell you how he knew Amanda?"

"Yes."

"Did he also tell you about how he encouraged her to begin her relationship with your father?" Davey Swenson was modest. Margaret doubted that he would have told Spock about this.

Spock tilted his head. "No…."

"Davey knew about your mother and father before anyone else did. Amanda was back home for a prep school reunion, and she confided to Davey that she was interested in pursuing a relationship with a colleague, but there could be serious complications if she did so. Well, she had told Davey so much about Sarek already that he knew who she was talking about even though Amanda never told him outright.

"She and Sarek were considering a romantic relationship, but as she already valued Sarek's friendship, she was afraid of risking that. But Davey encouraged her to take a leap of faith, as she had encouraged Davey to do in his own life. Davey told me once that he knew Amanda was destined for great things, and he felt that Sarek was part of her destiny."

Margaret sighed. "Isn't it funny how Amanda helped Davey find his destiny, then Davey helped Amanda find hers? And, perhaps, because of that, you're here, Spock. And now you've met Davey. We're all connected somehow."

Allen smirked at his wife's romanticism. "Deep, Margaret, really deep…"

"That _is_ deep, actually," Nyota said.

But Spock found it interesting. He had never considered the depth of his own connection to this part of Earth. He had something to think about as he walked up the stairs on his way to the shower.


	12. Reaching Out

Spock finished his shower and shave, slipped on the black jeans and black turtleneck shirt before pulling over a burgundy cable knit sweater. Nyota had insisted on casual wear for this trip. "Uniforms are not appropriate for family visits," she had told him. "They make people nervous." After a review of Terran fashions, he selected a few classic combinations advertised as "smartly casual." Unlike Nyota, he avoided shopping and hoped that a classically styled wardrobe would help decrease the frequency of future purchases necessary whenever fashion standards changed. The sweater was warm, which Spock appreciated. The environmental controls in Allen and Margaret's home kept it at a temperature comfortable for Terrans who were used to the area's cooler climate.

He felt more comfortable after cleansing himself of his body's salts from this morning's run and last night's emotional release. Shame filled his mind as he thought about it, but it was illogical to dwell on it. What was done, was done, and he could not deny that his current emotional state whenever he thought about his mother was more solid. Would he have been able to stand in his mother's garden at the clinic and hear Swenson's narrative about it otherwise? The experience would not have been a positive one as control would have been difficult.

 _Spock, this is part of grieving. It hurts, and we hate it, but we go through it, otherwise we can't go on living._ Nyota's words were true. His human heart had needed that outlet. Even his critical Vulcan mind had to acknowledge that, confirming that he had not been controlling his grief; he had been avoiding it.

As a scientist, accustomed to asking questions and discovering the answers, Spock had an active mind. As intelligent as he was, he could not help it. Now he contemplated Margaret's words about his own connections to the people of this area as well. He had been raised on Vulcan, outwardly appeared as a Vulcan, and thought of himself first as a Vulcan. Exploring his human heritage, which he had always tried to suppress or relegate to the back of his mind, was new to him.

How much of this heritage did he share? Though death had severed his bond with his human mother, what connections had she left him here? He had to reconsider this as he stood in her sister's home. Her family was here, not just Allen and Margaret, but Norah and Alaina and other Grayson relations. They, too, were a part of his history although, up to this point, acknowledgment of their contributions to his essence had been buried by Vulcan-centric custom and attitude.

What were those contributions? He intended to find out. Spock decided that it was time to actively acquaint himself with his mother's connections and, by doing so, continue to confront his grief and help restore the balance between his human and Vulcan natures. It was a logical path.

Hygiene tasks completed, he was ready to join the others. But first, he needed to take care of Nyota. Before walking down the stairs, he attended to that goal via his room's comm station.

**-o0o-**

"Margaret!" Allen's voice errupted from the study. "You have a call."

"I'll be right back," Margaret said, leaving Spock and Nyota on the living room sofa where they scanned in more photos.

Nyota had been surprised when Spock joined her in this project, which he had avoided the night before. He seemed calm, almost relaxed, even providing descriptions for most of the images they reviewed. She annotated each photo with his information as she scanned it.

"How are you doing?" she asked, leaning into him while they had a moment of privacy.

He leaned his head against hers, surprising her again. "My condition is agreeable," he said quietly. "Thank you, Nyota."

Nyota knew that his gratitude went beyond her current inquiry. "Anytime. You know that." She brushed his forearm supportively before picking up another photo. "Your parents. Your mother looks so young here."

Sarek and Amanda wore formal robes. Sarek stood expressionless, as did Amanda. However, a certain warmth emanated from her despite her attempts to adopt a Vulcan's bearing.

"After their bonding ceremony on Vulcan," Spock supplied. "Mother was 1.8 years older than you are now."

Nyota picked up another. "Oh, look at this!" she exclaimed, her smile widening.

A close-up of a smiling Amanda, who was seated on a lounge chair holding a bundle, her newborn son whose eyes were shut in contented slumber.

"Oooo, look at those long eyelashes!" Nyota cooed, her fingers nearly touching the image as if she intended to stroke it.

Why did human females adopt high-pitched voices and lose their logic when viewing images of young children, especially infants? Spock had seen this behavior many times. He never understood it.

"Ah, and that little nose!" she squealed.

Spock felt a distinct temperature rise in his face. "Nyota, please…"

She looked at him. "Are you embarrassed?" she teased. He had taken on a greener tint. "You are!"

He did not reply, looking at a point across the room, stiffening his posture. He inhaled slowly, then gently exhaled.

"OK, I understand," she said, still grinning, recognizing his exasperation. She did not want to push him. "But you're still cute," she whispered.

Although privately pleased by Nyota's comments, Spock was relieved when Margaret reappeared.

"That was one of our cousins," she said. "With so much going on, I forgot to get back to her. Now, you're under no obligation, but I promised her that I would ask." She trailed her words, deciding on her approach. "Janelle invited Allen and me to her annual Halloween party a few weeks ago. Well, with everything that's been going on, I forgot to get back to her. She called to follow up just now, and I told her that we had you two here. She said, 'Bring them along.' I said that I'd ask you about it and let her know. So, the question is: Do you two want to go to Cousin Janelle's annual Halloween bash tomorrow night?"

Halloween, one of the Terran holidays that Spock avoided, was the next Monday. He found the peculiar attire and noisy revelry from Academy cadets annoying.

"Is anyone wearing costumes?" Nyota asked. She loved Saturday night parties.

"Costumes are encouraged, but are optional," Margaret continued. "There are usually about 60 people there. We play a few games, but mostly we sit around and talk. It doesn't get too raucous. Spock, you might get to meet some more of our Grayson relations there. But don't feel obligated to go. I know this is short notice, and it may not be your kind of thing."

"I will go if Nyota wishes to do so," Spock said.

"Whaaat? You? You actually want to go to a Halloween party?" Nyota was incredulous. She usually spent Halloween going out with "the girls" while Spock sequestered himself in his apartment or in a lab. It was an understanding that they had. "You hate that kind of stuff."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"You avoided every party we ever had at the Academy," she accused.

"No, I avoided excessively inebriated cadets," he stated calmly. "It is unlikely that I will encounter any on this occasion."

Margaret laughed. "Well, there may be some inebriation, but I don't think that anything will get out of hand. So, do I take that as a 'yes'?"

Nyota, still shocked, shrugged. "That's a 'yes.' I don't have a costume, though."

"Don't worry," Margaret smiled, mentally reviewing her collection of Renaissance dresses. "I probably have something in my closet that will work for you. Spock, do you…?"

"I will opt out of costuming."

"That's what I thought," Margaret nodded. She was pleasantly surprised that he agreed to go. She liked her cousin's annual soiree. "I'll call Janelle and let her know."

As soon as Margaret left them alone again, Nyota looked at Spock quizzically. He merely looked back at her, waiting for her to ask the questions he knew she had.

"OK, out with it…why are you suddenly interested in going to a Halloween party?"

"Does this not please you?"

She knew his tactics for misdirection. "Oh, no you don't…answer my question."

He knew that she would not back down. "My interest in the party is secondary," he said. "My primary motivation is to observe members of my mother's family."

Nyota smiled. Was Spock taking a risk, reaching out to his human family? Nyota was happy thinking so. Between Margaret, Allen, and now Cousin Janelle, the Graysons seemed to be reaching out to him. She hoped that the family's overtures were genuine. Even if he never fit in entirely, she hoped that he would at least be comfortable with his mother's people.

The pair scanned in a few more pictures before Margaret returned.

"Oh, Janelle is thrilled!" she said. "She has always wanted to meet you. When we were kids, Amanda was one of her favorite cousins. She can't wait."

Spock considered. Amanda had talked about Janelle fondly. "Indeed…"

Margaret's expression suddenly changed, and she became more focused. "We'll worry about the party tomorrow. Now, we need to get to work on your portrait. Would you come with me to the studio? I need to pick out colors, and it would be easier if you were there with me. Nyota, why don't you come along, too. I could use a second set of eyes."


	13. Discussions

Margaret's studio was a large, bright room with a generous picture window overlooking the back yard, itself at the top of a hill overlooking wooded park land. Along one wall were cabinets and counters containing her supplies, a sink, and a small food storage unit for snacks or a small lunch for when she wanted to work uninterrupted. Backdrops of various colors hung along the opposite wall. On the ceiling aimed at the backdrops were key lights, which Margaret could position to illuminate her subjects as she wished. A couple of freestanding lamps stood at the ready for ground-level lighting as well as a couple stools and high-backed chairs for seating her subjects, depending on the mood she chose.

A desk, complete with comm unit, computer, and comfortable office chair, occupied one corner. In front were two more chairs for visitors. Margaret also had a couch with a couple pillows and an afghan draped over the back where she occasionally lay when she needed a break or wanted to brainstorm.

In the center of the room stood Margaret's high director's chair, an artist's easel on which there was already a blank prepared canvas, and a stand with various brushes, tubes of paint, an artist's palette, and jars of cleaning solution.

She led Nyota and Spock to one of her storage cabinets. "Spock, stand here, please." She looked at him as she selected various tubes of paint, placing them into a small divided tray. She had notes about the colors she had used before for his previous portrait, and she pulled those colors now. She also selected a few new ones as her intuition and artistic sense directed her.

"Now, if I could have you sit over here," Margaret directed, indicating one of the stools in front of her collection of backdrops. She expanded the black backdrop to its full length, went to a control panel to adjust the key lights overhead, then put a diffuser in one of her floor lamps and set it a couple meters in front of Spock and to the left. She stood back to assess this setup.

"Hmmm," she considered. "Black would be an interesting backdrop, but it doesn't feel right—and I don't want this looking like some tacky velvet painting."

Nyota giggled. Spock had no idea what a velvet painting was. He had never seen one in a museum. This would be another question for Nyota later.

His aunt looked at him some more. "You look good in that deep burgundy color you're wearing. Maybe that's what I'm looking for." She expanded a different background in a deep burnt red, then returned to the front to survey the effect. "Hmmm, better. Amanda's palette had golds, bright blues, and corals—very inviting. Sarek's was stately and dignified, in the browns and tans with accents of gold and primary red and blue. Yours, I believe, is composed of the deeper, more jewel-toned colors. Deep reds, deep blues, royal purples—regal colors, but still warm, expressive, vibrant…"

Warm? Expressive? Vibrant? Spock had difficulty reconciling these descriptions with anything that would refer to him. Most people in comments he overheard described him as cold, formal, and aloof.

Margaret stepped back again and reconsidered. "No, the backdrop isn't right." She returned and expanded a new one, this time in a deep midnight blue, then returned to the front. "Yes, this is the one. Not quite black, but deep. And it plays off the blue tint in the highlights in your hair. Nyota, what do you think?"

Spock sat ramrod straight on his stool, hands squarely resting just above his kneecaps. This was another unusual experience, one similar to a medical physical or ship-wide inspection. Like the photos Margaret had taken, although he could not classify it as unpleasant, it was not comfortable, either. Did all artists work this way? He wondered if this was a standard protocol or one unique to Margaret.

"You're talking to a biased audience, but I think you're right." Nyota smiled, inspecting Margaret's subject with an overt appreciation that Spock, trying to maintain decorum in front of his aunt, tried to ignore. "He also looks good in dark brown or a dark charcoal."

"I could see that," Margaret agreed, inwardly amused at the teasing Nyota inflicted on her nephew.

Margaret rearranged the tubes of paint in her tray, returned some to her cabinet and replaced them with others. She opened several tubes of paint, dabbing some from each on her palette, then dipped a brush in one of the colors and stroked a small canvas square that she had on the table. She repeated this with a few more colors. When she was finished with each color, she picked up the canvas square, walked over to Spock, and held it near his face.

"Yes, these will work as my base colors. I may have to blend a few of my own, though. Thank you, Spock. You may move, if you'd like."

"So, what do you do next?" Nyota asked as Spock stood up. She was intrigued by Margaret's process.

"This afternoon I will start the background, maybe paint general shape and form if my progress is good," Margaret answered. "I will begin to fill in the details as I observe and get to know my subject better. I won't finish until after you leave—I always want to see what stays in my mind after my subjects leave because it brings clarity. Then I can put on the final touches. I also have my photographs for reference if I need them, but I seldom do."

"Interesting approach," Nyota mused. "What kind of final touches do you typically make? Like to Spock and Amanda's portrait, for example?"

Margaret's eyes looked upward as she searched her memory. "That was an interesting project because Amanda changed between the time she arrived and the time she left, and so some of her accent colors changed, too."

"Margaret." It was Spock. Up to this point, he had been silent. "If I may, do you know why Mother arranged our visit at that particular time?"

His question seemed abrupt. "Yes, I do," she replied. Margaret was suddenly uneasy at where this might go. She had the impression that Spock's question was one to which he had wanted answers for a long time, and he was taking advantage of an opening into the subject. "Why do you ask?"

"The timing of our travel was inconsistent with educational or diplomatic timetables. And our arrangements were sudden." Spock remembered Amanda announcing to him one morning that the two of them would be leaving for Earth the next day for a family visit. He had always wondered about this, and he had inquired about the reasoning at the time. But Amanda had been unusually evasive. Normally he would have sought information from his father, but Sarek had left on a mission a couple days before and was unavailable.

Spock was a bright 8-year-old and had had his suspicions. It had been an inconvenient break during his schooling. Of course he kept up with his lessons while he was off-planet. His absence did put him behind in some physical disciplines. His inquiries, unwelcomed by both parents, went unaddressed in the years afterward, and Spock eventually ceased his inquiries on the matter altogether.

"Oh, Spock, do you really wish to know?" Margaret was hesitant. "Perhaps I should have chosen my words more carefully. It was a difficult time, and it was so long ago."

"I wish to know," he said plainly.

Margaret deliberated. She had kept her sister's confidence for so many years. But she could see Spock's point of view, why he might want to know now. When the pair had arrived, looking like a couple of refugees, Young Spock seemed very confused about the purpose of their trip. The poor kid was caught up in something he could not control. This was a part of his history, and he could no longer talk to Amanda about it.

Nyota recognized that Spock was asking Margaret to divulge some very personal information. "Should I leave?" she asked.

Spock wanted her to stay. Taking her hand and setting his palm to hers, she felt his need for closure.

"OK," Nyota said, understanding. "OK."

Margaret put her hand toward the couch. "Perhaps we should sit…"

**-o0o-**

_[18 Years Previously]_

Margaret received Amanda's written message.

_Urgent. Need to talk to you. Please receive subspace transmission at 6:00 GMT Tuesday.—Amanda_

Margaret blinked. Amanda was going to pay for a real-time subspace call from Vulcan? Except for very special occasions, their messages had been text- or vid-based, ones that could be sent whenever the Federation communications agencies sent multiple messages in bursts between worlds. This had to be important, especially for Amanda to ask Margaret to be awake at midnight local time to receive it.

Margaret was already sitting by the comm station when it beeped.

_CommLink Requestor: Lady Amanda Grayson, Shi'Kahr, Vulcan_

"Accept," Margaret said.

The image that appeared on her screen shocked Margaret. It was Amanda, but she was not the sister she knew. The woman was sad, distraught. Her eyes were red. Her usually perfectly coiffed hair frizzed around her face.

"Amanda! Omigosh, what's wrong?"

Amanda looked back, then burst into tears.

"Amanda?"

"Margar…et," Amanda choked. "I'm sorry. I need a favor." Her tears were streaming.

Margaret would have done anything. "Yes, of course. What can I do? What's going on?"

Amanda tried to compose herself. "I need a break. I want to come home. Soon. Would you mind if Spock and I stayed with you?"

"No, I wouldn't mind. We'd be glad to have you," Margaret said.

Amanda had always felt more comfortable staying with Margaret and Allen than she did with their parents. Although Howard and Jeanne had accepted Amanda's marriage and, eventually, their grandson, they sometimes made her uneasy with some of their questions and comments. There was little of that in Margaret and Allen's household.

"And…," Amanda continued, "…would you please not tell anyone except Mom and Dad that we're coming. I don't want anyone else to know."

"Amanda…." Margaret needed an explanation, and Amanda appeared to know it. "Did you and Sarek have a fight?"

"Oh!" Amanda exclaimed in exasperation. "Sarek never has a _fight_. He has _discussions_. This whole damn planet has _discussions_. Of course, they never really discuss what they're discussing. It's all passive-aggressive subtlety! For just once I'd like someone to just say what they're really thinking instead of obscuring it behind declarations of logic that are really poorly disguised insults!"

Uh-oh.

"I'm tired of it. Is it _illogical_ to want to be treated with respect? Is it _illogical_ to want Spock to be treated with respect? Is it _illogical_ to ask for some support?" Amanda was sobbing now. "I'm through with this! We're not taking this anymore! I need to regroup!"

Margaret's stomach tightened. This was bad. "Are you walking out on him? Isn't Sarek even going to try and stop you?"

"Ha! He just left on a mission to Telev III, and he'll be gone for a week. _Just. Like. That._ He'll just have to figure it out when he gets back because no amount of talking to him has done any good!"

"Amanda, Amanda,…I'm sorry…"

Margaret's concern grew, first when Amanda cursed—she never cursed—then with her sister's sobs. Amanda had always been calm. It was unnerving to see her otherwise. Margaret wished she could reach through the screen and hug her sister.

"Our home is yours for as long as you need, you hear me?" Margaret comforted. "Don't worry about that. When will you arrive?"

"In three days."

 _Three days?_ Amanda was paying for express passage on a very fast ship. It was worse than Margaret thought as she mentally went down the list of things she would have to prepare for their visit: the guest room, proper vegetarian food, a talk with Norah and Alaina, breaking it to Allen…what would he say?

"Are you going to be OK?"

Amanda nodded, though the tears continued to fall. "I need to be somewhere where I can get my head back together. And that's not here."

"When you pack, remember that it's winter here. Do you need me to find some winter stuff for Spock?"

Amanda's brows rose in surprise. She was so upset that she had not thought of that. "No, we have cold-weather attire for off-world visits. We were on Andor a few months ago. He's grown a bit, but it all should still fit."

"Do you need me to do anything else?"

"If you could keep this conversation completely confidential…"

"Absolutely. As far as anyone else is concerned, you just happened to have some free time in your schedule that suddenly came up, and you decided to use it to visit your immediate family. End of story."

"Thanks, I appreciate that." Amanda was relieved that her sister would keep her secret. "I hate to end this, but I need to pack and make arrangements for the household while I'm gone. I will see you in three Earth standard days. Don't worry about picking us up at the shuttleport. We'll take a taxi."

"Take care of yourself, Amanda. Safe travels. I love you."

"I love you, too, Margaret."

The screen went dark. Margaret shut down the comm station and made her way to the bedroom.

Allen waited for Margaret's summary of the call when she crawled into bed. "Well?" he asked.

"Amanda and Spock are coming for a visit in three days. She suddenly had free time in her schedule," Margaret recited.

Allen saw right through it, as Amanda had never brought Spock with her on previous visits, and this truly was sudden. "Is that Margaret-Speak for 'It's a secret and I shouldn't ask because it's personal'?"

Margaret nodded. "Something like that." She was relieved that he would not pry.

"Three days, huh?"

"Good night, Allen."

"Good night, Margaret."

**-o0o-**

"She wasn't so angry about dealing with the bigotry on the outside," Margaret remembered. "What she was angry about was that Sarek was not realizing or acknowledging the fact that it existed and the effects it might have been having on you, Spock. She wanted him to show you more support in that regard. It was tearing her up so much that if she had to leave him to make her point, to make him understand the seriousness of the situation and protect you, then she was prepared to do so."

"What happened?" Nyota asked.

"Sarek returned from his diplomatic mission to find Amanda and Spock gone. She left him a message telling him that she had gone to Earth to determine her options, but she did not say where she went. It didn't take long for him to figure it out—she really did not try to hide it. He looked through their own comm records and saw that she had called me, so he knew where she went.

"Over the next week it was like negotiating a peace treaty with the Klingons. Our comm station saw more use that it had during the previous six months. At first she was very tense every time he called. Then her mood got better. By the end of the second week, she was back to her old self in most ways. She was still cautious, and she wasn't letting him off easily, but I think the two of them discussed and worked out every marital issue they had up to that point."

Spock took in the information. It was as he had suspected. Many nights before their Earth visit, Spock, who was supposed to be asleep, had heard Amanda's muffled voice raised in strong emotional outbursts through the walls. In the mornings afterward there had been a cold regard between his parents. He had been concerned.

Amanda's sudden departure with him in tow also explained the appearance of the Vulcan covert service agent that he thought he saw as he played outside with his cousins. Now he was sure of it. Spock never would have known about the agent if he had not heard the agent slip on the ice. His cousins never noticed. Spock recognized the Vulcan kinesiology as the agent's form moved away, which led him to suspect that he and Amanda were under surveillance, perhaps at his father's behest, maybe T'Pau's, but he could not be sure of that.

Amanda's action, taking Spock, a Vulcan citizen, outside of Vulcan jurisdiction without his father's knowledge, might have been classified as kidnapping. As Spock was the son of a prominent citizen from a high-ranking House, the situation may have escalated. Spock was sure that Margaret knew nothing of the potential ramifications had his parents had not reconciled.

"Do you think she ever consider leaving for good?" Nyota asked.

"I don't think so," Margaret declared. "It would have been too hard because she loved him. And, after her time here, she realized that she had changed, her home was with him on Vulcan, and that Spock needed to be raised there. Fortunately it never came to that. They worked it out. Spock, you'll have to tell us if she seemed happier after your visit here."

"Our home was more…," he hesitated, trying to choose the best descriptor, "…harmonious," he said finally. "Father also preferred that Mother and I accompany him on diplomatic missions more frequently thereafter."

"I'm jealous," Nyota said. "That must have been fun."

"Our excursions were most illuminating, and they did offer opportunities to explore many cultures, languages, and thought," he replied, looking down at her. "You would have found them enlightening."

"And I will; that's why I'm in Starfleet," Nyota grinned.


	14. Guidelines

"Oh, there you all are," said Allen, entering Margaret's studio where his wife and guests sat. "Sorry, I have to go to work again."

Margaret harrumphed. "Can't they spare you for even a couple days? What is it this time? Is the place on fire?"

"It's more stupid politics," Allen said, his patience with the matter gone. "Angus Pritchard is fighting our proposal because it means he'll have to give us access to his equipment and people. He doesn't want to give up anything. Of course, once we're successful, he'll try to take the credit."

Spock listened. Interdepartmental politics were, unfortunately, universal. He had seen it at the embassy as a child, at the Academy as a cadet and instructor, and even on the _Enterprise_. It was no different in the civilian world.

"Renata Flores just called me, and she said that he's called a meeting between our departments to 'discuss' the issue." Allen rolled his eyes. "It just means he's going to make a big show of being cooperative without actually being cooperative. And he's having the meeting this afternoon when he thinks I can't make it. Well, big surprise, I'm going to be there."

"And he'll just argue with you again," Margaret said. "That man loves to argue."

Allen shook his head. "I think it makes him feel like he's in control or something. Spock, you're the XO; you run a starship. What do you do when someone argues with you?"

"Few people argue with me," said Spock, but he cast an amused look toward Nyota.

She threw a _don't-you-dare-say-it_ look back at him.

Allen was learning to appreciate Spock's quiet sense of humor. Margaret had shared her observations with him that Spock, like Sarek, communicated a wide range of reactions—one just had to pay attention to his slight vocal inflections, word choices, head angle, posture, and eye movements. Once he looked, Allen found that she was right.

"No," said Allen, "I don't imagine that they do. They'd really come off looking like idiots to the nth degree." An idea popped into his head. "I wonder what Pritchard would do if I brought my science genius nephew along…"

"Allen, you are not going to use him like that!" Margaret exclaimed. "He doesn't need to be involved in your work squabbles."

"Work squabbles? Nah, I just happened to be bringing my nephew along to show him my workplace, and we just happened to walk by the meeting. We have people bring their relatives through all the time. Spock, you wouldn't have to say a word," Allen said. "I've been telling everyone that I've been consulting my nephew in Starfleet for his input. I'd just like to see if Pritchard has the balls to stick to his guns when he sees who my nephew is. It's a litmus test."

Allen's odd idioms aside, Spock thought about it. He did not want to be an influence, even a passive one, in a matter that did not concern him. However, Margaret had become impatient with the constant interruptions during what was supposed to be Allen's time off. If his brief appearance could help close the issue, then it was something he could consider. At the very least, after his and Allen's detailed project discussions during the preceding two days, Spock was genuinely interested in seeing the facilities at Allen's workplace. He might encounter useful approaches or equipment for outfitting the _Enterprise's_ own facilities.

"If your adversary presents a compelling argument, I will be forced to state my agreement with him," Spock warned.

Allen laughed. "If you agree with him, then I'm likely to agree with him, too, so I don't think that's a problem. You'll go, then?"

"I do wish to tour the facility if it is permitted."

"You really do?" Allen asked in disbelief, but happy at the chance to show off to a receptive audience. "Well, then, if it's OK with you ladies, we should get going!"

"Go do what you have to do," Margaret said.

"Have fun," Nyota said. "I'm going to enjoy a nice, long soak in the tub and a nice, long nap while you're gone."

"Please do," Spock said softly as he tilted his head toward her.

In his eyes, Nyota caught a slight glint of…amusement? What was that about?

"I fully intend to," she replied. "Stay out of trouble."

Margaret and Allen laughed as Allen and Spock exited.

**-o0o-**

True to her word, after Nyota and Margaret had a light lunch, Margaret finished preparing the bathtub for Nyota's well-deserved indulgence. Margaret was happy to provide her guest with this luxury. Who knew when the young officer would have this opportunity again? Sonic showers, not bathtubs, were the norm on a starship.

Margaret was gathering a couple more towels when the front door chime sounded. She was not expecting anyone. She wondered who it was as she opened the door.

"Hi, Ma'am," said the uniformed messenger. "Is this the Grayson residence?"

"Yes," said Margaret.

"I have a package for an 'N. Uhura' in care of Margaret Grayson."

This was interesting. "I'm Margaret Grayson. I'll sign for it."

After finishing with the messenger, she took the package and set it on the small valet table. She heard footsteps as Nyota, in her robe and slippers, descended the stairway.

"Nyota, you have a package. It just arrived."

"A package? Who would be sending me a package here?"

"There's one way to find out," said Margaret, picking up the parcel, walking to the living room, and setting it on the coffee table.

Nyota sat next to her on the couch and opened the box. Inside were two smaller boxes surrounding by colorful package material: one oblong, and a small square one. She opened the oblong box. Inside was a bottle and a note in Swahili. Nyota's smile widened as she read the note. She looked up to the ceiling, reread the note, then laughed. "My certain someone wants to ensure that I achieve 'a high degree of relaxation' today," she translated.

Then Nyota giggled, her eyes darting over the note again. Margaret was sure that there was more in the note than Nyota was sharing.

Nyota picked up the half-sized wine bottle to read the label. "It's chocolate wine! Where did he find this?"

Margaret's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Chocolate wine? I've never heard of it!"

"Oh, it's so good. I had some at a party once, and I told him about how wonderful it was. He remembered." Nyota replayed her last sentence in her mind. "Of course he remembered. He remembers everything. Mmmmm, after a glass of this, a 'high degree of relaxation' is almost guaranteed!"

Margaret laughed, excited to see what was next. "What's in the other box?"

Nyota dug eagerly into the package. "Truffles, a half-dozen! Yum! Wait, here's another note."

Margaret found this entertaining. She never pegged her nephew as the romantic type. Had Sarek ever been this way with Amanda?

Suddenly Nyota doubled over in laughter. "Oh, good thing he went out with Allen because _he is so-o-o dead!_ " she exclaimed. "I can't read this to you; I have to show you."

Margaret looked at the card.

_GUIDELINES  
_ _-FOOD  
_ _-III. Confections  
_ _-B. Chocolate  
_ _-3. Prohibitions  
_ _-iv. Under no circumstances separate a Terran woman from the last confection (e.g., truffle) of any box or container.  
_ _-v. Never consume such confections without permission or invitation, implied or otherwise. Even when permission or an invitation is extended, consider the ramifications of such consumption before proceeding._

"There's a story behind this," Margaret stated, hoping that Nyota would share it.

Nyota nodded and giggled some more. "When we started dating, he was confused by human courtship rituals. I told him that, aside from a few general rules, courtship rituals varied between couples. I was joking when I told him that a guidebook would be useful, but he took it literally. A few months later, I found out that he had been compiling one about us!"

Margaret's mouth dropped. "You're kidding!" She had to admit to herself that it was not such a bad idea.

"At first I was embarrassed—I couldn't believe that he had done that—but then I thought it was cute. Vulcans love their rules and guidelines, so it comes with the territory. When he learns something new or makes 'a pertinent observation,' he adds it to the guidelines."

"Oh, that's funny."

"It works out pretty well. He regularly reviews his observations to better understand why I might be happy or why I'm upset." Nyota's eyes started to flash, and her lips thinned in consternation. "But then he's added a couple _observations_ just to tease me…"

"Like this time?"

"Uh-huh. This is payback," Nyota thought twice about telling Margaret more, but this was in good fun. "Two months ago I left a box of truffles out that I bought on Starbase 12. There was only one left, and he ate it. It was my fault—I accidently left the box in his quarters, and I know he likes chocolate. But I harassed him about it anyway. Now I'll have to listen to him quote…," Nyota picked up the card again for reference and stated in her best Vulcan voice, "…Food, Guideline III, Section B, Subsection 3, paragraphs 4 and 5."

Margaret laughed harder after Nyota's Vulcan vocalizations. "If that were Allen, I'd hit him!"

"Well, if I'm not good and relaxed after my bath, my wine, my truffles, and my nap, I might be tempted!" the younger woman replied, then released an exaggerated sigh. "But I won't..."

"Awwww," said Margaret jovially, echoing Nyota's playful, sappy mood. "It looks like there are a few guidelines in there about taking care of you, too. I love a happy ending."

Nyota's face softened as sincerity took over. "I have to thank you again, Margaret, for making us feel so welcome and comfortable here. Spock never would have done this otherwise, and you have no idea what this means to me. If he's started thinking about those crazy guidelines again, then he's thinking about us again. He's not in pure survival mode anymore." Nyota opened her arms wide, then gave Margaret a big hug.

Margaret's heart warmed at hearing this, though she did not believe that she was doing anything beyond being a good host. "Glad to help," she said as the two parted. "I'm sure Allen would agree that you're becoming family to us, Nyota. The two of you will always have a place in our home."

Nyota smiled and brightened at that, picking up her wine and truffles, ready for a nice, long soak.

Margaret stood up. "Let's get you to your bath, My Lady. I'll get you a glass for that wine so you can sip and enjoy!"

Nyota followed her gladly.

**-o0o-**

Hours later Allen and Spock walked through the front door, mission completed. Allen was in a good mood. Even Spock seemed satisfied when Margaret met them in the foyer.

"So, how'd it go?" asked Margaret.

Allen beamed. "You should have seen their faces when we walked in!"

"Oh, I can imagine."

"I thought Pritchard was going to have a stroke! He was in the middle of telling everyone, including a couple VPs, how 'ill-considered' our approach was and that he couldn't imagine who would have come up with such an idea. Then he said how it was 'too bad' that I was not present for his very important meeting. That's when I was standing in the doorway, and Dr. Lindholm says, 'It looks like he's here.'"

"Is that when Pitchard lost it?"

"No, not yet." Allen could hardly contain himself as he continued. "I said, 'It's my day off, and I'm showing my nephew around. Do you mind if he sits in on this meeting because I think it's very important that I be here, and I don't want to leave him in the hallway.' So Lindholm says, 'Is this the same nephew who's been giving you all the advice over the last couple days? I said yes, and he says, 'Bring him in.' So I did. And all Hell broke loose."

"Oh, do tell!"

"Of course everyone recognized our famous young commander here. But Pritchard starts sputtering—that's the only way to describe it—and he says, 'That is not your nephew.' And then Spock says…tell her what you said."

Spock did not want to repeat what he had said. As he had been with the Vulcan Science Academy ministers years before, he had been flippant in reacting to Pritchard's annoying arrogance.

"C'mon, it was priceless," Allen urged.

"'He does not see the family resemblance, Allen,'" Spock quoted himself finally.

Margaret shook her head in disbelief while she tried to stifle a laugh. "Oh, that was naughty."

Allen became more animated. "It brought down the house. It took at least five minutes for everyone to settle down. I thought Pritchard was going to explode when his own department couldn't help laughing. Finally after we took our seats, Pritchard tried to bluster through the rest of it. Then Lindholm had me to respond to Pritchard's presentation. Lindholm and the other VPs came down on our side. Now we're back on track."

"That's a relief. Now maybe we'll get to see you over the next few days," Margaret declared. "Did you get your tour, Spock?"

"Yes. It was enlightening," he answered, hanging up his coat. "I believe that I will be able to adopt several protocols I observed today."

"He got the grand tour, all right. Dr. Lindholm showed him around personally. He met everyone from the president on down. It turned out rather well. Everyone was impressed and excited to meet him, of course.… So now that we've slain our dragons, we can settle in for a nice quiet evening. How did Nyota like her bath time?"

Margaret smirked. "Well…it turns out that bath time is much more relaxing when you're sipping on a glass or two of chocolate wine. She could hardly make it up the stairs for her nap after she got out of the tub."

Allen squinted. "Chocolate wine? When have we ever had chocolate wine in this house? I've never heard of it."

"Excuse me, I wish to organize my notes," Spock said, maintaining quiet dignity as he picked up the PADD he had temporarily set down, then exited toward the stairs on the way to his room.

"Supper's in two hours," Margaret called to him amiably. "That is, if Nyota can move…"

Allen determined the source of Nyota's wine as Spock quickly retreated while Margaret gently teased him with the tone of her voice. Yes, the kid definitely was starting to grow on him.

**-o0o-**

Spock went directly to his room, relieved to escape Margaret's light teasing while he added more information and some thoughts to his PADD. It had been a good day. He and Allen had developed a rapport as they discussed many topics, technical and non-technical, during their trips between home and office. Allen talked about humorous mishaps at his company while Spock revealed the many ways that Starfleet Academy cadets had blown up experiments or entire labs during his time as an instructor there. Allen also told Spock more about the Grayson relatives Allen expected to see at the next night's Halloween party so he could be better prepared to meet them.

He concluded his thoughts and returned the PADD to its storage case. He decided to look in on Nyota. In the hallway, he could hear her gentle breathing through the door to her room. He touched the doorknob and slowly pushed down, then gently opened the door a crack.

The window shades were drawn nearly to the bottom of the glass, letting in only a little of the dimming light from outside. In the soft light, she looked tranquil, cocooned in a variety of quilts and pillows. Her eyelids moved as she opened them slightly.

"Hey there, Handsome," she said lazily. "Wanna come in?"

If she was not inebriated, she was, at the very least, extremely relaxed. He widened the door enough to slip in before closing it again. "I did not wish to disturb your sleep," he said softly, walking to the side of the bed. "I trust your bath was satisfactory."

"Hmmmmm," she moaned. "I can hardly move, thanks to you."

"Thanks to me?"

"The wine…thank you. You know how to take care of me."

A sense of satisfaction filled him. After last night's mind meld and this morning's miscommunication, she had been upset. A Vulcan would have relieved distress through meditation. But Nyota was human, so he turned to Terran customs and methods. She often enjoyed wine when she wanted to relax, and she definitely enjoyed chocolate. She had made that clear a couple months back when he mistakenly consumed one of her confections. Although the chocolate's intoxicating effects had already numbed him by time she lectured him about it, he knew that he would have to make reparations. Relaxation and reparations—today it appeared he had achieved both of his objectives.

He sat down on the edge of the bed as she awoke some more.

"How did it go at Allen's office?" she asked.

"The issues have been resolved."

"Good." Nyota's eyes slanted dangerously, and her voice took a sultry timbre. "You deserve a special reward."

"Oh?"

She gestured toward the nightstand on the other side of her. Out of the six original confections, only one remained. She smiled wickedly. "Could I interest you in a truffle, Mister?"

She was tempting him, playing with him. Of the six original confections in the box, she had left the dark chocolate/raspberry crème truffle—his favorite.

The game was on. "I do believe there are guidelines that prohibit me from accepting," he stated. Was he really engaging himself in this?

"Are you sure?" Nyota asked in faux disappointment. "You've broken rules before…." She lowered her voice. "You know that you want it."

"However, I can control myself."

"But you want it. I know you want it." An impish expression crossed her features. She changed tactics. "Why don't you lie down, right here, next to me? Take off your shoes, and relax."

This was interesting. Where was she going to take this? Illogical or not, his curiosity and desire to amuse her prompted him to remove his shoes and recline on top of the covers, resting his head on a pillow. "Perhaps I will meditate now."

She smirked. "Oh, no, no, no…"

"Did you not state that I should relax? Is this not acceptable?"

Nyota was happy that he was playing along with his willful obtuseness. They had had few light moments like this in the past year. She picked up the remaining truffle, leaned over him, and held it over his mouth. "Open up, and then you can relax."

"I doubt that, as I would suffer the consequences according to Food, Guideline III, Section B, Subsection 3, paragraphs—"

"—I guarantee that you'll suffer consequences if you don't shut up and open your mouth," she promised.

His eyes narrowed as he did what she commanded. She put the truffle to his lips, but he took it in his teeth and kept it there. Then he simply stared at her as if he were calculating something.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Before she knew what was happening, he flipped her onto her back, hands pinning her shoulders. As she opened her mouth to voice her objection, he placed his lips on hers and thrust the truffle into her mouth. Trapping her against her pillows, he kissed her passionately and thoroughly, his pressure keeping the truffle contained in her mouth until she was forced to chew it.

It was hers. He had not succumbed.

When he finally released her, she kept laughing, trying to swallow the last of the raspberry crème. She could not believe what he had just done. "Stubborn Vulcan!" she sneered playfully.

"Terran temptress…," he whispered in return, kissing her neck on his way to her collarbone.

"Oooo, that's a new one, Mr. I-Can-Control-Myself."

Unabashedly smug, he settled back onto his own pillow and closed his eyes.

She snuggled next to him and closed her own eyes. "This isn't over, Spock."

"I am aware of that, Nyota." He took a few deep breaths before sinking into a meditative state.

The pair rested until it was time to prepare for supper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always welcome!


	15. Costumes & Pranks

Last night's supper had been pleasant. A cold rain had fallen during the late afternoon, sending a dampness through the house. Margaret had declared that it was the kind of weather that demanded soup, and she and Allen had served soup, salad, and bread. The pumpkin-tomato bisque had a full flavor and nice warming effect, the gentle pumpkin complementing the tomato's acidity nicely. Spock found it so satisfying that he requested the recipe. He intended to pass it along to the _Enterprise's_ galleymaster to enter it into the ship's food replicator programming.

Upon finishing supper and cleaning up, Allen and Margaret brought out a couple non-strategic board games that relied more on luck than skill. Nyota explained that the object of playing such games was not to exercise one's strategizing skills, but to enjoy the personal interaction over the game. With this perspective in mind, he found his human companions' reactions interesting as the game took its twists and turns. Somehow random tosses of the dice or card selections in turn prompted random memories, stories, and observations. Spock, who remained quiet because he could not keep himself from strategizing anyway, listened more than he spoke. Afterwards the four sat in the living room in front of the fireplace, conversing as Nyota scanned in more photos and Spock and Margaret supplied information about each one.

He had not spent an evening like this since leaving Vulcan for Starfleet those many years ago. He, his mother, and his father spent many evenings quietly resting in their sitting area or on the patio simply attending to quiet pursuits in each other's presence. Something about this was comforting, something he also had been missing for a very long time. His life had been so busy that he had not had time to even think about it. It was a pleasant situation to be in again.

His Vulcan mind gripped his thoughts, admonishing him at one point—pleasant or not, it should not matter. Spock could be doing more productive things, like reviewing the ship status reports that came in during the day. But he chose to ignore these thoughts. His reviews were not due for a couple days. He could attend to them in the morning. For now, he decided it was acceptable to "go with it."

Finally the inevitable yawning and drowsy stretching began as one by one Allen, Nyota, and Margaret decided it was time to sleep and left for their rooms. Spock was the last. Before retiring for the night, he stepped into the study and looked at the portrait again. An odd sense filled him, as if his mother's _katra_ were present. Her eyes looked back at him in approval. It was illogical, as an image could do no such thing, but he found comfort nevertheless. After walking up the stairs and exchanging a lingering good-night embrace and kiss with Nyota in the hallway (she had insisted, after all), he entered his room, his heart and mind at peace. He was content.

He awoke, well-rested 6.1 hours later—a long period of slumber for him. Outside it was still dark, and he heard no sounds from the other inhabitants in the house. No matter, it was a good opportunity to review his waiting status reports and complete other administrative tasks in preparation for the _Enterprise's_ departure 10 days hence. Signing off on the reports and transmitting them, he then changed from his pajamas into his Starfleet Academy sweatshirt and pants for his workout.

He did not leave immediately. Instead he waited until Nyota woke up and was ready for her own workout. Last night she mentioned that she needed to attend to physical conditioning, especially after the wine and chocolates she had indulged in that day. He wanted to accompany her. There would be no miscommunications today.

Nyota was not surprised to see Spock waiting outside her door, gloves and cap in hand, when she emerged. Perfectionist that he was in everything—his work, his duty, or their relationship—he would not allow a repeat of yesterday's episode. She was glad.

"Good morning, _Ashayam_. Ready to go?" she asked.

He nodded, and the two walked down the stairs, out the front door, and onto the street where they started a slow jog to the trail access.

**-o0o-**

The weather was dreary, a dismal cloudiness and dampness from the previous night's rain. Although the rain had ceased, a mist hung in the air. It was like San Francisco on a colder morning, with the fog hanging more persistently than usual. Spock and Nyota returned to the house dampened but, thanks to their physical exertion, not chilled. Even so, Margaret ushered them into the kitchen for mugs of hot tea. Nyota took the first turn through the shower while Spock, Margaret, and Allen ate some breakfast.

"Are you sure that I can't convince you to dress up for tonight's party?" Margaret asked Spock lightly, knowing full well that he would not accept. "It's all part of the experience, you know."

Spock was getting used to her jocular prodding, which was much like his mother's and Nyota's. Instead of dignifying her inquiry with a verbal response, he tilted his head at a forward angle and rose an eyebrow, looking back at her.

Margaret burst out laughing. "Well, I had to try…. Allen says that since you he won't, he won't either."

"It's costume-optional, Margaret," Allen said. "And if he were Sarek, you wouldn't be asking him to dress up."

Margaret laughed harder, and both eyebrows reached the bottom of Spock's bangs. Their twin expressions of astonishment at the mental image of Sarek in a Halloween costume sent Allen over the edge and he laughed harder than Margaret did. Spock recovered first and went back to eating his oatmeal porridge.

"Sorry, Spock, I don't mean to offend," Allen said. "Random thoughts…."

"No offense taken," Spock stated. "A question, however."

"Yes?"

"What appeal does attiring oneself so hold?"

"You mean, why do people like dressing up for Halloween?" Margaret clarified.

"Yes."

"Oh, let me see," Margaret began, starting a train of thought. "First, it breaks the monotony of day-to-day living. It's just fun to wear something different. Second, it gives you the chance to exercise your imagination. You can imagine yourself in a different life or a different time. Nyota and I will be dressing as Renaissance women. It's fun to see what we might look like had we lived in that era. Many people dress up as heroes and legends, like Robin Hood or Migara of Antares."

Spock could understand Margaret's explanation in theory. There were, however, costumes that did not fit this explanation. "Why would one wish to imagine oneself as a box of cereal?"

"What?" Margaret laughed.

"Last Halloween I encountered a cadet attired as such," he said. "I also observed many depictions of severed limbs, heads, or disemboweled entities. Why would one wish to imagine oneself in such circumstances?"

"Humor and shock value," said Allen. "The cereal box was supposed to be funny, and the guy in it wanted to make people laugh. The more scary and gruesome costumes are meant to get a reaction out of folks. We humans seem to get a charge out of watching each other's reactions. And the more extreme reaction you get, the more satisfying it is. Some people do go a bit overboard, though. I've seen some really disgusting costumes in my time. But most of it is for fun."

Spock paused a moment, as if he were weighing a couple revelations. "By these parameters, I do not require a costume; 88.23 percent of humans have intense reactions to my appearance." It was a statement. Spock resumed eating his oatmeal.

Margaret felt bad for him. It had to be hard being different from every other being in the universe. "Well…you could take a different approach, Spock. You could disguise yourself as just another human in a Halloween costume at a party. You'd see what it's like to be ignored as just a member of the crowd."

Spock looked up. He never knew what it was like to remain anonymous, even on Vulcan where, despite his appearance, his human heritage was the object of interest. "That is intriguing. Perhaps on another occasion."

If he were going to meet members of his mother's family, this was not the time to try this kind of venture. However, it could be an interesting experiment in the future. He would need to consider the prospect further.

"If you did, what costume would you choose?" Allen asked. "Just curious."

Spock allowed himself to look at the ceiling. It was as close to rolling his eyes as he got. "Not a leprechaun, not Dracula, nor an elf—neither Christmas nor Tolkeinesque," he stated evenly.

Allen and Margaret broke out laughing. "I take it that these have been suggested to you," Allen guessed.

"By my first Academy roommate when I was a cadet and several others since," Spock affirmed.

"Sounds like he was a pain in the butt," said Allen.

Spock remained diplomatically silent, taking another sip of tea.

" _First_ roommate?"

"He dropped out after the first semester," Spock said. "I was assigned another."

"Who dropped out after the first semester?" Nyota entered the kitchen, fresh from her shower and dressed.

"Cadet Remson."

"That roommate you won't talk about?" Nyota shook her head. "Spock never says anything about that guy, so he had to be awful."

"He was not suited for a Starfleet career," said Spock. "His 'talents' were best applied elsewhere."

"Spoken like a true instructor," Allen observed.

Spock took the last sip of tea, got up, and brought his empty mug and bowl to the sink for washing. It was his turn for the shower. He nodded to the other three and exited.

"Nyota, I'll heat up some oat porridge for you," said Margaret. "While that's going, do you want to pick out a costume?"

"Sure!"

Nyota followed Margaret to the master bedroom and into the walk-in closet. Hanging along a corner rail were eight different Renaissance-style dresses in various colors.

"Wow! These are great." Nyota fingered the purple velvet of one garment. "Why do you have so many?"

"I help my friends sell their art at Renaissance festivals, and I have to dress up. I hate to wear the same thing all the time. I've added a new dress every year or two, so now I have eight. Now, let's look at you…we're close to the same size, and these dresses have some adjustment to them. I'm sure any of them would work. Take your pick."

**-o0o-**

Early evening arrived, and it was time to leave for the Halloween party. Nyota had chosen Margaret's dark green princess dress. Because Nyota chose a more formal dress, Margaret selected a similarly fashioned dress in purple velvet. They would be royalty, not wenches.

When Spock and Nyota descended the stairs on the way to the foyer, Allen looked at them and laughed. "Oh, don't you two look cute."

The two exchanged confused expressions.

"You're wearing the same color."

Spock's sweater was, indeed, the same deep green as Nyota's dress. Nyota laughed—this was the kind of thing that Gaila would have noticed. She did not expect it from Allen.

"Our coordination was not intentional," Spock stated. "Is this undesirable?"

"No, but don't be surprised if you get teased about it," Allen said.

"Yes, Allen, as you're doing now," Margaret pointed out. "Quit picking on them, and let's get into the skimmer. We're running late."

"And whose fault is that? You're the one who had a few more touches on Spock's portrait."

"Well, you can't interrupt the creative process, not when I'm on a roll," she returned.

Spock and Nyota already had their coats on and were out the door. Allen and Margaret followed them into the vehicle, and they promptly began the trip to Cousin Janelle's. On the way, Spock and Nyota noted the Halloween window displays in many homes. As dusk faded to night, the bright orange and purple lights offered an eerie glow. Many homes had set up yard displays with pumpkins, headstones, ghosts, scarecrows, skeletons, witches…. They made the trip more interesting.

Soon the car slowed as Allen turned down a more residential area. Like many houses in the area, these homes were of vintage style, but bigger—mansions, actually, with grand lawns and ironwork fences and gates. Allen pulled up before one of the grander homes, a Victorian-style mansion whose yard was decorated along the same Halloween themes seen earlier, but with more artistically arranged, higher-quality props and sets. Pumpkin-shaped lanterns adorned the trees and orange, purple, and green luminarias lined the long brick walk, up the steps to the home's wide columned verandah and stately entrance. Giant spiders occupied giant webs stretched between several of the columns. Two scarecrows seated on a bench on the verandah greeted visitors. Lighted jack-o-lanterns greeted from behind the glass of the windows, behind which many of Janelle's guests already mingled. Speakers in the trees howled out ghostly sounds, yowling cats, and creaking doors.

Spock took in the various dioramas and Halloween embellishments. He had been to many planets on Sarek's missions or as a member of a landing party, but few times had he seen anything like this.

Nyota sensed that his mind was on overload. "Just go with it," she reminded him with an amused whisper.

"What was that, Nyota?" Margaret asked.

"Uh, nothing…. It's interesting that your cousin's name is Janelle because this is just like something out of a Janelle Devereaux book."

Margaret and Allen laughed. "Oh, my cousin is Janelle Devereaux," said Margaret. "That's her pen name anyway. She's just plain old Janelle Grayson to us."

"Janelle Devereaux? Really?" Nyota exclaimed. "Wow, my mother is a big fan! She has all her gardening books. She really likes the rose garden volumes!"

Spock was confused. What was he missing now?

Margaret noticed and explained. Janelle Devereaux was well-known all over Earth as a lifestyle guru. Janelle Grayson's alter ego had produced many volumes on crafts, food, gardening, and general entertaining. Her company offered lines of crafting materials, cookware, and gardening tools. It was a lifestyle empire geared toward bringing a homemade, creative, personal touch to a world where replication had imparted an impersonal ubiquity to everyday living.

"She even has a holovid program that runs weekly. I'm surprised that you've never seen it," Margaret said.

"I have," Nyota said. "When I'm home visiting Mama. But I never had time at the Academy, and we don't get her program over Starfleet entertainment bursts to the _Enterprise_."

"Maybe she'll make a contribution to our brave men and women of the Fleet," Margaret said. "Spock, I know that Janelle sent copies of her program to Amanda, but that was probably well after you came to Earth. You probably should know that your mother had a hand in this. Amanda inspired Janelle's interest in gardening by having her help out with the Mayo Clinic gardens. She also brought Janelle to an embassy ball once, which is what got Janelle interested in entertaining. Janelle just took off from there."

Spock remained distracted by the plethora of decorations. "I will need to acquaint myself further with her endeavors," he said. Although he did not understand the need for such adornments, he did appreciate the craftsmanship behind much of it. Few embellishments of this type would have found application on Vulcan, however.

The foursome ascended the steps to the front door. Spock looked more closely at one of the scarecrows when suddenly, in his peripheral vision, he saw a black object dropping and dropping quickly. It was plummeting toward Nyota's head!

Reflexively, Spock's arms flew, and his fist batted at the object, hitting it squarely. _Thud!_

"AAACCCKKK!" screamed the black blob.

Spock crouched in a defensive position, eyeing the screaming object at it flew away. Nyota froze by his side in a protective stance, ready to cover his back.

"Aaaaacckkk-ack-ack-ak-ak!" the blob continued to scream as it took a trajectory over the verandah railing and into a low hedge in the front yard. They heard an impact against branches and leaves in the dark.

The next sound was Allen's hysterical laughter. Margaret glared, but Allen could not stop. Tears appeared in his eyes. He howled and hugged his stomach, then had to sit down because he could no longer stand.

"Allen!" Margaret hissed. "This isn't funny!"

Nyota and Spock relaxed, recognizing that the "danger" had passed. What had just happened?

"Oh, gawd, yes it is…!" Allen wheezed. "We've just b-b-been defended b-b-by Starfleet's finest…against Janelle's giant spider!" He descended into more gales of laughter. "That stupid spider! I've wanted to do th-th-the same thing for years!"

"Grow up!" Margaret said, nudging him with her foot. "And get up!"

Allen started to settle down, but was set off again when Nyota joined him, giggling at the absurdity.

Spock straightened. So, the spider was an annual prank. Typical. "I will retrieve the device," he said, disappearing into the yard. Based on the force of impact, estimated trajectory, and his better night vision, Spock did not anticipate much difficulty in locating its position.

Allen managed to get back to his feet when the front door opened. The woman who opened it had a kind face, shoulder-length layered dark brown hair, bright blue eyes, and an elegant, though not-quite-aristocratic manner. She was dressed in a sparkling lavender Fairy Godmother costume, complete with crown and wand.

"Margaret, Allen…what's going on? I thought I heard something. When did you get here?" she asked.

Allen burst out laughing again when Spock emerged from the darkness holding the giant spider. The Vulcan innocently held it up for inspection.

"I do believe that your animatronic arachnid appears…uninjured," he said calmly.

To prove his point, he tripped the device's sensor.

"AAACCCKKK!" it screamed as eight eyes flashed in red and eight legs flailed. "Aaaaacckkk-ack-ack-ak-ak!"

The four humans all laughed, even Margaret and their host, who wondered how her spider ended up in the yard.

Spock tilted his head. "My apologies," he said to the Fairy Godmother. "Cousin Janelle, I presume?"

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a "Janelle Devereaux-style" value-added bonus…the recipe for the pumpkin-tomato soup that our main characters enjoyed for dinner.
> 
> AASHLEE'S PUMPKIN-TOMATO SOUP
> 
> Pumpkin and tomatoes—in a soup? I know this sounds strange, but it's very, very good. I had a pumpkin-tomato soup at a party once, loved it, so I figured out how to make it. This is a perfect autumn soup.
> 
> 1 large onion, cut in 1-inch chunks  
> 2 Tbsp. olive oil  
> 1 tsp. ground black pepper  
> 2 15-ounce cans chicken or vegetable broth  
> 1 15-ounce can pumpkin (must be plain pumpkin, not the pie filling seasoned with cinnamon, nutmeg, etc.) OR 2 cups cooked pumpkin, mashed  
> 1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes  
> salt to taste  
> cream (optional) served on the side
> 
> In a large kettle, heat oil and cook onion until translucent and slightly carmelized. Add pepper and broth, bring to a boil, cover, then let simmer about 15-20 minutes. Then take out onions, put them in a blender along with about a cup of the broth, then whirl until liquified. Add this back into the kettle of broth. Add pumpkin and diced tomatoes (juice and all). Bring to a boil, then let simmer another 15 minutes. Add salt to taste.
> 
> This soup is good as it is, or you can add a tablespoon of cream to individual bowls of soup for a different taste experience. It is great either way.
> 
> If you like a little more spice, you can add dashes of pepper, pepper sauce, or curry when you add the broth. This recipe is a nice base for customization. Bon appétit!


	16. Grayson Cousins

Janelle Grayson did not know whether to be horrified or amused after Allen told the story. Her young cousin seemed unruffled by the whole episode, but, then, he took after his Vulcan father, and it was hard to read exactly what he thought of it. However, the young woman, Spock's friend Nyota Uhura, seemed to think it was funny.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, Spock," Janelle said. "But I have to be impressed with your ability to knock Morton The Wonder Spider off his tether and out of the park."

"You named that thing 'Morton'?" Allen asked, still trying to control himself.

"It was a unique encounter," Spock said diplomatically.

Janelle smiled at his choice of words. He was not as reserved as she had expected him to be. He had Amanda's eyes, now that Janelle could see him better in her home's grand foyer as her guests hung up their coats in the front closet. A warm brown and, Janelle thought, a bit of Amanda's sparkle that made her miss her cousin and mentor more.

Janelle had met Sarek several times, and Spock shared Sarek's magnetism and gravitas, enhanced by his height and strong features, but there was an additional underlying fire that pulled one's attention to him. She had heard before from other family members that Amanda's son favored his Vulcan heritage. Janelle could see that, yet she also could not help seeing something else there, something very human as well, though she was not sure she could pinpoint what that was yet. He was dressed more casually Terran-style, not in the formal Vulcan robes that Sarek always wore, so that might have skewed her impression somewhat.

"Now, let me formally welcome you to my home," Janelle said graciously. "I am so glad that your visit coincided with my party, and I am pleased that you accepted my invitation."

"Thanks for inviting us," said Nyota. "It was very kind, and I'm thrilled to meet you."

What was it Margaret had said during their call yesterday? Nyota was Spock's _girlfriend_? Like Spock's, Nyota's eyes also had a certain warmth. Her smile dazzled, and she had a presence all her own. Maybe charisma was a requirement for all Starfleet officers. It would be interesting to know the story behind the pair, who, along with their crewmates, she had seen all over the newsvids.

"It's an honor to have both of you," Janelle said genuinely. "And I finally get to meet my favorite cousin's son. I trust that Margaret and Allen are treating both of you well?"

"They are," Spock said.

"Oh, they're great," Nyota followed.

Janelle smiled and ushered the foursome to the home's giant dining room where she had a long buffet table set with hors d'oeuvres, bite-sized desserts, and beverages. At one end was a large punch bowl that bubbled and fogged. "Be sure to help yourself to some Witch's Brew. There is plenty of food here. Most of it is vegetarian, so everyone should be able to find something. Oh, Amy…!"

An aproned young woman placing yet another tray of goodies on the buffet looked up. She walked to join the group. She, too, had a fairy-like dress, but hers was mint green, and she wore a smaller crown. Her hair and complexion matched Janelle's.

"Spock, Nyota, this is my daughter Amy," she said. "Amy, your cousin, Spock, and his friend, Nyota Uhura." Janelle put one arm around Amy and directed herself to Spock. "Amy's given name is Amanda. I named her after your mother."

Amy smiled. "Great to meet you, finally. I hope we can chat later. Mom, I have to get the tartlets out of the oven before they burn."

"Go, go, go." Janelle waved her daughter off. The door chime sounded. "Oh, more guests. Excuse me…"

Janelle and Amy left the room to attend to their respective duties. Spock examined the buffet table. Was this food? In theory, yes, it was food. Apparently, like many things during Halloween, it was in disguise. Looking up at him from the buffet table were spiders, ghosts, and monsters. Bloody fingers were artfully arranged around a bowl full of a gooey green slime. Witches' hats and gravestones—with a few eyeballs in the mix—stood in military formation on a miniature casket. He looked to Nyota.

Margaret and Allen smirked. Their nephew's brow furrowed; he was perplexed. Margaret tugged at Allen's sleeve, pulling him away to let Nyota answer the many questions she thought Spock might be reticent to ask in front of them. Allen seemed to understand. "I think I see Wyatt and Celestine, Margaret. Let's go say hello." He and Margaret made their way to the great room where most of the other guests mingled.

" _Ashayam_ , are you going to live? You look like you just saw something out of Sickbay."

He indicated the bloody fingers. "These appear to be severed digits, so perhaps I have."

Nyota laughed. "It's all edible, and it's all Halloween fun."

"Indeed. However, ascertaining the true identity of these items may prove to be a challenge."

The pair scanned the offerings, making guesses. Nyota delighted in the originality and creativity behind the creations. Her companion tentatively considered his selections with Nyota's help—she steered him away from anything with chocolate—but eventually a few selections made their way to his plate.

"Hey, so this is where the food's at!" exclaimed a man in a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, sunglasses, and sandals. A young woman in a grass skirt, lei, and bikini top followed him into the room. He grabbed a plate and helped himself to the food. The woman did the same. They did not notice Spock and Nyota until they came to the end of the table. Seeing them, they stopped just as suddenly as they had barged in.

"Dude!" the man effused. "Great costume!"

Spock remained expressionless.

"Shouldn't you be wearing a uniform or something?"

Nyota stifled a giggle. "What's wrong with his clothes?" she asked.

"Oh, well, nothing…but if I were doing a Commander Spock costume, I'd be in uniform or in something Vulcan. I don't think he wears sweaters."

So, the man thought that he was in a costume… _as himself_? _Fascinating._ "I shall take it under advisement," Spock replied.

Nyota sensed Spock's amusement. It was difficult trying to hold in her laughter.

"Seriously, Dude, the hair and the ears are great! You look just like him."

Spock raised an eyebrow and in his best flat Midwestern accent said one word: "Thanks."

The man gave Spock a "thumbs up." He and the woman grabbed a couple bottles of beer and happily joined the crowd in the great room.

Nyota looked at Spock mischievously. "It's official. Kirk has contaminated you," she said. "You're just as bad as he is."

"Did you not say that I should 'go with it'? Margaret suggested that I attire myself as a Terran in a Halloween costume. Perhaps this is an adequate representation."

"Ha-ha," Nyota snorted lightheartedly. "And don't blame Margaret. You were being a smartass on your own, and you know it."

Spock did not argue or protest. Nyota would hear none of it anyway, though he gave her his most innocent look and gestured toward the great room. Nyota rolled her eyes and walked toward the partygoers with Spock close behind.

The party was in full swing. Dozens of people in various costumes conversed in small groups throughout the giant gathering space that was aglow in orange lighting with accents of green, purple, and white. Upbeat Halloween-themed music played loudly enough to be overheard over the crowd's din, but not so loudly that it drowned out conversation. In each corner of the room Halloween props and decorations added more flair to the party atmosphere. Frankenstein loomed over a stack of pumpkins in one corner. Ghosts and bats suspended menacingly over a group of chairs in another. Black cats stood guard over a haunted house in the third. In was in this corner among a small group of sofas where Allen sat. He noticed the couple and beckoned them over.

"Hey, you two, there are some people I'd like you to meet," he said. "Spock, these are some of your cousins: Martina, Kyle, Daniel and his wife, Elizabeth." He pointed to each in turn. "Glenn, Graham, Ross… Celestine and her husband, Wyatt… Grace. Benjamin and his wife, Kathryn. Everyone, this is Amanda's son, Spock, and his friend—well, our friend, too—Nyota."

The group erupted into a chorus of different greetings and phrases of welcome.

"Got that, Spock?" Allen joked. "There will be a quiz later."

"Martina, Kyle, Daniel, Elizabeth, Glenn, Graham, Ross, Celestine, Wyatt, Grace, Benjamin, Kathryn…Yes, Allen, I believe that I do."

The Grayson cousins laughed. Allen shook his head.

"See? I told you," Allen declared. "Pure genius. And the bravest slayer of giant spiders anywhere."

The cousins laughed harder. Apparently Allen had told the story. Except for moving his gaze to Allen, Spock maintained a neutral expression. Suddenly Allen felt a slap on the arm.

"Don't tease him!" It was Margaret who had just joined the group. "You've been picking on him all day."

"You picked on him yesterday," returned Allen. "Today it's my turn."

Grace Grayson, like the rest of her family, was surprised at the banter. Cousin Amanda could always banter with the best, as did everyone else in the family, but no one she knew ever tried it with Sarek. From what she had seen of Spock on the newsvids, she did not think that anyone would try it with him, either. Though her Vulcan cousin kept his expression in check, he did not look uncomfortable.

"Do you always treat your guests this way?" Grace asked, poking Allen in the ribs with her elbow. "Remind me never to stay at your house." She made room on the couch she sat on. "Spock, Nyota, please have a seat and join our conversation."

The pair sat down. Because everyone was dressed in costume, Spock did not stand out. In fact, he did not receive the deep stares that he normally received, even from crewmen on the _Enterprise_. Somehow a Vulcan was less noticeable when he sat among two princesses, an Andorian, a turtle, two chipmunks, a pile of leaves, a samurai warrior, and a shopping basket full of various fruit. As strange as it was, for once he blended in.

Spock found that conversation between him and his cousins flowed easily, made even easier by his familiarity with their cadences and bantering style, similar to those his mother and Margaret had shared. They asked about life on a starship and exchanged information about careers and interests—safe topics.

No one brought up the events surrounding Vulcan's destruction, though it was at the forefront of everyone's minds. Out of respect, the Grayson cousins thought it best to leave that topic alone.


	17. T'Katra Yonet

Martina Grayson was a history professor whose focus was the period around First Contact. When Martina was working on her doctoral thesis, Amanda had put her in contact with Vulcan scholars for their perspectives.

Kyle Grayson was a xenobotanist who adapted Terran plants for cultivation on new colonies. He and Amanda often discussed her efforts in growing roses, tomatoes, garlic, and onions in Vulcan soil.

Daniel and Elizabeth Grayson-Alvarez were musicians. Amanda shared her favorite Vulcan compositions with them which, in turn, influenced some of their own creative efforts.

All his cousins, Spock learned, had a connection to his mother beyond simple familial relations, connections of which he had never been aware. Spock listened intently as one by one they shared their stories and observations. Nyota, as usual, voiced the questions he was hesitant to ask. Though these people were family, they were still strangers to him, and he had difficulty overcoming his cultural reserve not to intrude on their privacy. Even knowing that humans were much more open with their personal details, he still had trouble taking his inquiries further than he would have if they had been Vulcans.

Nyota chatted with them happily, and they with her. He was grateful for her presence. He acknowledged that his interactions with Margaret, Allen, and the rest of the Graysons had been greatly enhanced because of her. Asking her to accompany him on this trip had been a wise decision.

As the group continued their lively conversations, he was sure that he recognized some of them from before, from long ago.

"Margaret." He addressed his aunt while the others' attention was momentarily taken. A shapely woman in a flashy belly dancer costume had suddenly appeared at the other end of the room, creating a stir as she sashayed and gyrated through the crowd.

"Yes, Spock?"

"When Father requested the collection of greetings in observance of Mother's 35th birthday, were these family members among them?"

"Oh, yes…Grace, Kyle, and Ross for sure. Janelle and Amy. Celestine and Wyatt, yes…." Margaret looked up. "Benjamin, were you and Kathryn in on Amanda's 35th birthday holovid?"

"No," he replied. "Unfortunately we were off-planet at the time."

"I remember that," said Glenn. "Say, how did that go?"

"I know Amanda was thrilled. She said so," Margaret said. "But Spock was there…Spock, why don't you tell us?"

Suddenly Spock was the center of attention. He had hardly said a word to this point, so his cousins were very curious about what he would say. Margaret nodded to him in encouragement. She was eager for the rest of the Graysons to get to know him as she had during the past few days.

All ears focused on his quiet voice as Spock started to speak.

**-o0o-**

_[17 Years Previously]_

"Sit here, my wife."

Sarek led his human mate to the chair closest to the holovid screen in the main sitting area. His son followed his parents, carrying a holovid cartridge.

Amanda seated herself. "Sarek?"

She had been surprised at the conclusion of the late meal when her husband and son presented themselves and stated that there would be a deviation from the household routine that evening. To any other human, the pair appeared expressionless. Amanda, however, knew that their minds were focused on something, as they had been for weeks. When she questioned them about their pensive moods, both together and separately, their answers had been evasive. They were so tight-lipped and determined to keep whatever-it-was to themselves that she let the matter drop. She sensed that the details would come out eventually. Apparently, the time for that was tonight.

"On Earth, it is the 35th anniversary of your birth, is it not?"

They remembered? And they were commemorating it? Vulcans did not typically note birthdays. That was a human custom. "Yes, it is," she replied, wondering what was coming next.

Sarek looked to his son. "Spock…," he prompted.

Spock inserted the cartridge into its slot and switched on the holovid screen. The title appeared: _Happy Birthday, Amanda_. It faded as Margaret's face appeared.

" _Hi, Amanda!"_ Margaret said cheerfully. _"I bet you're wondering what this is about. Well, Sarek asked me help him collect birthday greetings from your family here on Earth. It's Number 35, one of those milestone ones—yes, I know you'd like to forget it—but you're just going to have to put up with it, Big Sister. So here we go …"_

Allen, Norah, and Alaina joined Margaret in the frame. _"Happy Birthday!"_ they shouted while Norah and Alaina threw confetti. Allen punctuated it by blowing on a horn. _"Hi, Spock!"_ the girls chorused in the background.

Amanda leaned forward toward the screen, eyes wide as the corners of her mouth turned upward. Sarek had requested this? She was charmed that Norah and Alaina had remembered Spock from their visit months earlier.

The screen faded to Howard and Jeanne Grayson.

" _Hello, Amanda,"_ Howard said.

" _Hi, Sweetheart,"_ said Jeanne. _"Your father and I hope that you are having a pleasant birthday. We wish we could be with you, but because we cannot, this is the next best thing. We send our love to you, and we hope all is well with Sarek and Spock, too. Happy Birthday! We miss you!"_

Amanda was not surprised that Jeanne did all the talking. Her father hated talking on holovids.

Grace Grayson appeared next. _"Hey, Amanda! Hope your birthday is the best. Gosh, we hope you can fit in a visit to Earth sometime soon. We'd love to see you. Take care! Happy Birthday!"_

During the next 14.35 minutes, more and more family members proclaimed their greetings. As each person waved, rattled a noisemaker, or simply conveyed best wishes, Amanda's smile grew. Her eyes glistened as they moistened. Soon she was wiping at them before the tears escaped.

The final image was a lit birthday cake, ornately decorated with 35 perfectly spaced candles. As the camera zoomed out, Janelle and a young Amy Grayson appeared. In the background balloons and streamers decorated the dining room. A big "Happy Birthday, Amanda!" banner hung just above the duo.

" _We baked you a cake, Cousin Amanda!"_ Amy proclaimed proudly.

" _We sure did,"_ said Janelle, _"to wish you the most happy of birthdays. We wish we could serve you a slice of this most delectable lemon chiffon with buttercream frosting—yes, we know it's your favorite. Although we cannot send this to you, we will share it in your honor. All of us."_

The camera zoomed back farther to a wide shot as family members, about 40 of them, walked into the frame. After the last of them arrived, they started singing the traditional song: _"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you…"_

When the song ended and the crowd gave a final cheer, the screen faded to black, Amanda looked up to her husband, tears flowing freely now. "Oh, Sarek…"

She lost the last of her emotional control when Spock, who had slipped out of the room quietly minutes before, now entered with a birthday cake, complete with lit candles. He set it before his astounded mother, then retrieved a pouch from the cabinet. Inside were several cards and letters from her friends and family. She burst out in even more "happy tears," a term that Spock always had trouble truly understanding.

After she had settled back to a more even emotional state and had blown out the candles, the three each had a piece of the cake. It was not a true Terran cake, but close enough. Spock had found Amanda's adapted cake recipe for Vulcan ingredients, and he and Sarek had baked it while she had attended a lecture the day before. They had hidden it in Spock's room.

They spent the rest of the evening as Amanda opened each card and letter. She said it was the nicest birthday she had ever had.

**-o0o-**

Spock thought back to that time…. It was months after his parents' reconciliation when he and Amanda had returned from their trip to Earth. After talking to Margaret the day before and thinking about the events from an adult perspective, he realized that his parents had entered a period of rebuilding their relationship. His mother had been very surprised—and touched.

Few times had Spock seen his mother happier. It had been the beginning of the contentment that, with few exceptions, remained throughout the remainder of his parents' marriage.

"Mother's strong emotional response lasted several days," he continued slowly, thoughtfully. "She was…happy, very much so. She viewed that particular holovid repeatedly, even long after the observance of her date of birth had passed."

"Awww," someone said, echoed by several more.

"That's good to hear," said Celestine. "I always wondered. It had to be tough being so far away."

"Oh, but she was at _home_ with _her_ family," said Margaret, remembering her own relief as Amanda described her improved domestic life in the months after her visit. Although not perfect, Vulcan had truly become Amanda's home, and Margaret wanted her nephew to know that. "I think it ended up being the perfect celebration for her. I don't think there was anywhere else she would rather have been."

Celestine understood Margaret's message. "That's true," she agreed.

The conversation soon flowed to other topics as the cousins caught up on family news. Even Nyota entered into a deep discussion with Benjamin and Kathryn, whose young daughter was interested in xenolinguistics-related careers. Spock was pleased that she was connecting to his extended family members in ways that might not be possible for him. Though he and his cousins shared common ancestry, he felt apart from them.

Leaving Nyota to continue offering her advice, Spock excused himself to retrieve a beverage. Margaret was thirsty as well and walked with him to the buffet table. They assessed their choices of wine, beer, juices, and other drinks. Margaret poured herself a glass of Reisling. Spock had not yet made a choice when he felt someone staring at him.

"That's him."

Spock recognized the voice—the man in the Hawaiian shirt from earlier. He was talking to his two friends, who were dressed as a cowboy and a commercial shuttle pilot. "Isn't that the best Commander Spock costume you've ever seen?"

Margaret was shocked when Spock said nothing to correct the misunderstanding. Instead, when he inclined his head toward her conspiratorially, she realized he was allowing the masquerade. _Oh, naughty,_ she thought. _Wish Amanda could have seen this!_ Margaret smirked and met his eyes, understanding. The trio approached them.

"Say, that's the best makeup job I ever saw," the cowboy said.

"Did it take long to do?" the shuttle pilot asked.

Spock maintained a Vulcan demeanor as he stood ramrod straight. "The time expended was minimal," he informed them.

Meanwhile, Margaret, trying not to choke on the laughter she was valiantly holding in, faded back into a corner to watch.

The pilot shook his head. "You have some pretty advanced skills. Do you work in theatre or holovision?"

"No, I do not."

"What do you do for a living?" asked Hawaiian Shirt Guy.

"I serve in Starfleet."

The shuttle pilot's eyes went wide. "Starfleet?… No way! Are you role-playing?"

"No."

"Well, you're still the best impersonator I've ever seen."

Even Spock could not keep a spark of amusement from his eyes. "Indeed…"

Just then Janelle came through the entry and spotted the young Vulcan. "Oh, there you are. I had hoped to have a chance to talk to you. Everything's out of the oven, so now I can finally enjoy my own party." She noticed the other three men. "Oh, John, Marco, Evan…I see that you've met my cousin."

"Yeah, but we didn't get his name," said Hawaiian Shirt Guy.

"Really? You don't recognize him from the newsvids? Where have you been in the last year? Spock, these are a few of my production people for the _Janelle Devereaux Lifestyles_ program: John, Marco, Evan. John, Marco, Evan, this is my cousin Spock."

They laughed. Was she serious? Janelle's smile changed to confusion instantly, which stopped their laughter. The three men looked at each other, at Spock, at Janelle, then at each other again.

"Janelle, this is a joke, right?" Marco, the shuttle pilot, asked tentatively.

Janelle was starting to become offended at her employees' behavior. "No-o-o, why do you ask?"

Margaret could not hold it in any longer and burst out laughing as the reality of the situation hit John, Marco, and Evan. Spock clasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight.

"Margaret, what am I missing here?" Janelle demanded.

Margaret walked to Janelle and put her hand on her shoulder. "They were just complimenting him on his costume and makeup job."

"No!" Janelle was horrified. Between the spider and now this, would her cousin ever step foot in her house again?

"But he was going along with it, so they are not at fault," Margaret quickly added to ease the horror on the men's faces and Janelle's concerns. She patted Janelle's arm sympathetically. "I am learning that our young man here can be a bit of a _smart aleck_." She gave Spock a sharp look when a flicker of surprise crossed his features. "And, yes, I am talking about _you!_ "

"Oh, really?" Janelle was intrigued. Was this more evidence of the human spark she had seen in her Vulcan cousin earlier? He had, after all, handled the spider incident with an un-Vulcan-like ease.

"It was at your suggestion, Margaret," Spock insisted. "You did suggest masquerading as a Terran in a Halloween costume. Apparently my guise, if you will, was successful."

"This is not what I meant!" Margaret laughed. "You twisted what I said, and don't tell me you didn't! Spock, let them off the hook. You owe these guys an apology."

"Perhaps I inadvertently took liberties in my interpretation. Even so, my apologies for my subterfuge, Gentlemen." Spock inclined his head toward the astounded trio. It had been an interesting experiment. Unfortunately now the men had changed from their former casualness to the distancing celebrity worship Spock usually encountered and endured.

"It's an honor to meet you!" John the cowboy exclaimed. The other two stood stunned with their mouths open.

"You're related?" Marco asked Janelle, his previous boldness gone.

"You know that 'Devereaux' isn't my real name, right?" Not getting an answer, Janelle was surprised. "Oh, you're new to the company. Then you don't know that my legal last name is Grayson. Have you ever heard of Amanda Grayson, the woman who married Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan about 30 years ago?"

The trio nodded. They had heard of her in their high school and college Federation history classes. Understanding began to dawn.

"Amanda was my cousin, Margaret's sister, and Spock's mother. That's how we're related. Back when I was starting my career," Janelle continued, "Amanda was famous for having just married Ambassador Sarek. I was afraid that people would think that I was trying to get ahead using the Grayson name. That's why I went by 'Devereaux' so people would respect my work on its own. It stuck."

"Your work is so good that you'd be successful, no matter your name," said Margaret.

"Awww, you're sweet," Janelle returned. "And you…," she turned to Spock, "…I don't know you yet, but I think that despite outward appearances, I'm seeing quite a bit of Grayson in you, Cousin."

Janelle's observation was unexpected. Spock's eyes warmed as they met hers while he tried to read into her statement. "Indeed…"

Janelle felt a connection. His eyes were deep, bright, curious. And, despite his careful control, he had some of his mother's charm. "Come with me into the kitchen so we can talk some more," she invited. John, Marco, and Evan's expressions had transformed into celebrity fanboy stares. She had seen plenty of those on her own book tours, and she did not think Spock needed to be subjected to that. "I have a couple of small things to put away before I call it quits."

**-o0o-**

"Amy, what have you got there?" Janelle asked as she, Spock, and Margaret entered the kitchen.

Amy had spread a work cloth over the main kitchen work surface. Spread upon it were several tools and a big bowl of water.

"I put away the rest of the cookware," she said. "I thought it would be neat to carve a few of those pumpkins. I was talking to Nyota Uhura earlier, and she said that she's never done one. I said I'd set things up and show her how."

Janelle grinned. "I bet Spock's never done one, either…"

"I think he should get a comprehensive exposure to the Halloween experience, not just costuming," Margaret teased. "It's atonement for putting one over Janelle's production guys."

Spock thought about resisting the suggestion.

"Don't give me that look," Margaret laughed. "Give it a try."

Internally Spock found himself weighing the advantages and disadvantages of attending this party. Meeting his cousins had been valuable, but the trappings and customs surrounding this holiday were beginning to prove disquieting. But he had committed to being open to this. At least Nyota seemed to be enjoying herself, he noted, as he heard her laughter from the other room. For her sake he could tolerate activities in which he normally would not have engaged. His own father had become similarly more flexible in such matters when he and his mother were off-planet. On Vulcan, though, never.

Janelle went into organization mode. "How many pumpkins do we have? Maybe some of the others will want to carve one, too. We've got plenty of workspace."

"We have eight," said Amy. "One of them is mine, though. Margaret, how about you?"

"I'd love to. I haven't carved a pumpkin in years."

"I'll do one," Janelle said. "So that leaves us with three. I'll get Nyota and see who else wants to do one."

When Janelle returned, she brought Nyota, Grace, Celestine, and Kathryn with her. In the meantime Amy had retrieved the pumpkins and more carving tools and set them out. Amy also included a pair of food prep gloves at each station. Janelle guided each person to a station, seating Spock between Margaret and Nyota.

"We'll go with the classic approach for our two novices," Janelle said. "The first thing is to cut off the top to make a hole big enough to take out the seeds and pumpkin pulp, like this." She expertly activated a kitchen laser cutter and cut a neat circle around the pumpkin's stem. "This is going to be a lid. If you really want to be old-fashioned, you can use a knife for this step, but the laser is so much neater. Then scoop out the seeds and the pulp until you have a nice, clean rind."

The women's happy conversation filled the kitchen, punctuated by laughs and a couple squeals as pumpkin pulp mishaps ensued. In scooping out the pulp with a slippery paddle, Grace had sent a spray of pulp and seeds across the work surface where it nearly hit Kathryn. Kathryn loaded a slippery seed between her index finger and thumb and pressed, the pressure sending the seed flying from her fingers back toward Grace. The women laughed at their own antics.

Nyota took her task more seriously, doing as she was told. But she was more interested in watching Spock. She had been glad and surprised to see him in the kitchen ready to carve out his own pumpkin when Janelle led her there. She leaned over and asked quietly in Vulcan, _"How did they convince you to participate?"_

" _They did not convince,"_ he replied with exaggerated patience. _"They coerced."_

Though they did not understand the conversation, the rest of the women stole amused glances at the couple's interactions.

" _Now why would they do that?"_ Nyota asked as sweetly as she could in Vulcan speech patterns, though she had her suspicions. For some reason, before they had entered the kitchen for pumpkin carving, Janelle had asked her if Vulcans played jokes.

One thing he was learning about the Graysons was how quickly news traveled between family members, so he was sure that Nyota already knew why. He ignored the inquiry and focused on his work. Like a surgeon, Spock efficiently cut a nearly perfect circle into the rind, lifted, and scooped out the seeds and pulp quickly and capably into the bowls of water. Janelle had explained that the water made it easier to separate the seeds from the pulp. Amy wanted to save the seeds for roasting later. He finished first.

"You're done already?" Margaret eyed him suspiciously. "Have you done this before?"

"I have prepared pumpkins before," Spock stated.

Nyota set down her pulp scoop. "When have you ever carved a Halloween pumpkin?"

"I have not carved a Halloween pumpkin. I have previously prepared pumpkins—for cooking."

That caught Janelle's attention. "You've cooked with pumpkin? What have you made?"

"Most often I consume it by itself as a vegetable. As an ingredient, I have used it in soups, bread, and curries.

"You have?" Nyota exclaimed. "I've never seen you cook any of that."

The rest of the women stole more amused glances. This was interesting.

Spock maintained his calm demeanor. "The opportunities have been minimal. You usually cook." Although he did not know why, he knew he was in trouble somehow.

"Well, that's because I didn't know that you cooked any of that!" Although she was smiling and joking, if Nyota's hands had not been full of pumpkin pulp, they would have been on her hips. "When we get back to the ship, you're going to show off some of these cooking skills. You've been holding out on me, Mister!"

Their tablemates erupted in laughter.

"Where did you learn to cook all that anyway?" she asked.

He returned to cleaning the last strands of pulp from his scoop. "Mother," he replied quietly.

Nyota glanced up at him sympathetically. Spock knew it would happen when he answered her question. As inexperienced as he was with many human social situations, he was not entirely unperceptive. Even now he saw the looks of silent pity from the other women. He did not want that from them. He needed to direct their attentions elsewhere.

"When Father's missions brought us off-world, Mother often used pumpkin as a substitution in several Vulcan dishes when Vulcan vegetables were unavailable," he said. "Pumpkins grow readily on several worlds."

"I did not know that," Grace said to help break the silence.

"Amanda loved pumpkin," Margaret added to restart the conversation. "We used to make muffins and pies with Mom. One Halloween when she was 10 and I was 8, we went trick-or-treating, and Amanda brought a basket of muffins along. She wore a chef costume and gave them out to the neighbors when we made our rounds. We were the most popular trick-or-treaters that year."

"Good grief!" said Kathryn. "Was she always such a saint? I've never heard a bad thing about her."

Margaret guffawed. "Oh, no, she wasn't. There was a bully down the street, and Amanda was sure that he would try to do something to us while we were out trick-or-treating. Sure enough, he tried to steal our treat bags, but she was ready for him. Amanda took one of her muffins and crammed it right in his face. Not only that, she made sure that she smeared it all over his costume. Even after he let go of our bags, just for good measure, she threw a handful of dirt, twigs, and leaves on him. By the time he got the sand out of his eyes and could see again, we were long gone."

Margaret then continued in mock-dramatics. "Oh, he cried to his mother, and then his mother came crying to our mother. Oh, the tragedy! Boo-hoo! How could we have been so mean? When Mom brought us to the door, Amanda told everyone that he deserved every crumb and every grain of sand. She refused to apologize." Margaret thumped her first on the work surface for emphasis. "You didn't mess with my sister!"

The women were all laughing again, many of them clutching at their sides picturing the elegant Lady Amanda Grayson dressed in regal Vulcan robes throwing dirt on some bratty kid.

This was another aspect of his mother's upbringing that Spock had trouble envisioning. "Margaret," said Spock, "would this incident be akin to a 'backseat battle'?"

His brown eyes were bigger than normal in a childlike curiosity that Margaret had not expected from him, and she fell off her chair as her sides suddenly constricted. She was in hysterics. Janelle had to get up and walk around. Nyota was trying not to lose control herself. No one else was having much luck, either.

Spock straightened. "I will take that as an affirmative," he stated dryly, returning to his work.

"The trials and tribulations of childhood…I'm glad I don't have to go through all that again," said Grace.

"Here, here!" said Amy. "I second that."

"Is everyone done scooping out the pumpkin guts?" Janelle asked.

Technically, the pulp and the seeds were not "guts." Tempted as he was to say something, Spock recognized the colloquial elements of this conversation. He fought his Vulcan inclinations and kept his observation to himself.

"There are several approaches to this," Janelle said. "Most people carve faces. Some carve silhouettes of cats, ghosts, or other Halloween things. And then some, like Margaret, turn these things into something more artistic or more eerie."

"According to what I've read, in legend Halloween is the time when the worlds between the living and the dead intersect," said Nyota. "Do jack-o-lanterns have anything to do with that?"

"Not that I know of," said Janelle. "There's an old Irish legend about a guy named Jack who made a deal with the devil to not take his soul when he died. Jack was not good enough to go to Heaven, but the devil already said he would not bring him to Hell. So the devil threw him an ember, which Jack's soul placed inside a carved-out turnip and carried around as he wandered the earth seeking his final resting place. When immigrants came to North America, they brought the legend with them. Pumpkins were already associated with harvest, and somehow the two traditions merged as North Americans developed their version of the Halloween holiday."

"Well, aren't you the font of information? Do you know why people wear costumes?" Grace asked.

"Some of the ancient peoples wore them to disguise themselves against some of the more evil or mischievous spirits," Janelle answered. "At least that's what I understand."

Margaret leaned over to Spock. "I suppose Vulcans don't have any illogical legends like these," she said in her best loud stage whisper.

He surprised her. "Incorrect. In ancient times there were similar legends and practices," he said. "Ancient Vulcans in some agrarian and trades classes employed _t'katra yonet_ —spirit lanterns—to attempt a connection with the dead or to guide spirits during specific seasons."

"Spirit lanterns? What did these lanterns look like?" Margaret asked.

"There was little standardization of appearance," he said. " _T'katra yonet_ were individual works most often composed of clay, metal, and stone, with adornments ranging from precious stones and metalwork to simple geometric engravings. Each lamp bore the inscription of the name or symbol for the spirit with whom one wanted contact."

"How interesting!" said Janelle. "In theory, because there are no standard materials involved, our pumpkins could become spirit lanterns, couldn't they?"

Spock was not expecting that. Nor was anyone else. "In theory, yes," he replied. "I do not understand, however, why one would wish to apply them as such. The utilization of _t'katra yonet_ ceased thousands of years ago."

"Well, Halloween is one of those holidays that seem to be ever-evolving. I think it would be neat for us to bring in something of your Vulcan heritage into our celebration tonight. That is, if this doesn't offend you…"

Spock could not think of any cultural prohibitions against the application of _t'katra yonet_ , even when the application involved a strange Terran holiday. _T'katra yonet_ had been an expression of folk beliefs and superstition, not formal religious practice. "It does not," he said.

"Good!" said Janelle. "Then I am going to make a spirit lantern."

"Me, too," said Margaret, who went to work. She started carving intricate patterns of triangles and diamonds along a band of her pumpkin. She also scored designs into the rind, not cutting entirely through the rind, just enough for the candle's light to glow through once the pumpkin was lit from within.

The others joined in. They had all carved the traditional scary and happy faces into Halloween pumpkins before, and they were happy with the change of plan. In her zeal, Janelle had forgotten about giving Spock and Nyota guidance on more traditional patterns, so the pair carved their own _t'katra yonet_ as well.

Spock noted the group's ease in embracing an ancient Vulcan practice as another demonstration of the flexibility that humans exhibited, often eagerly. It was the kind of flexibility that Spock believed that Vulcans would have to adopt as they built their new world and repopulated their species. Most genocide survivors had already been off-planet. More than most, they were more receptive to exoVulcan practices and ideas. However, many other survivors had embraced their Vulcanity to a greater degree. Rigid adherence to Vulcan tradition versus openness to outside influence was a constant debate as the remaining Vulcans determined their path.

Margaret leaned over to Spock again. "You said that there was an inscription for a spirit. Does it matter where it goes?"

"I am not aware of any placement requirements for such," he replied.

"Very well, then," she said, going back to her work.

Spirit name? If Spock were to truly emulate the old practice, the obvious name to inscribe on his lantern would be his mother's. This was personal; should he display her name in this manner? He glanced over to Margaret's work. Obviously she had the same idea, using an intricately carved "A" in place of Amanda's full name. That was more discreet and acceptable. He followed her example, inscribing the corresponding Vulcan vowel.

As the party continued in the other rooms around them, with Janelle and Amy checking up on their other guests from time to time, the small group worked quietly. Occasionally the women shared a memory that usually included something about Amanda. Spock continued his work, meditatively carving another small section of rind as he listened to their stories, learning about aspects of his mother and her family that he never knew.

Nyota was tempted to touch his hand, curious to feel his state of mind. She sensed no distress from him, nor anything that indicated that he was trying to hide any, which surprised her. He would have excused himself if he were uncomfortable. But, for now, he was calm.

Finally the last carver set down her tools. They were done.

"I'll go get some candles and we can light them," Janelle said.

"If one follows tradition, we must light them outside," Spock said. " _T'katra yonet_ were never lit in a dwelling, nor were they brought inside again once they had been lit."

"Understood," said Janelle. "We can go out to the patio and place these on top of the stone wall."

"Let me go get the rest of the family," said Celestine. "Maybe they would like to see our work."

"Go do that," said Janelle. "We'll all meet you at the door."

Celestine collected their Grayson kinsmen and women from the other room. By time they got to the patio door, Janelle had inserted a votive candle into each pumpkin. "Let's go," said Janelle.

The group exited onto the large, multi-level brick patio that overlooked the large lawn with gardens, lit by landscape lighting. The sky had cleared, and damp leaves wet from the day's rain fragranced the air with an autumnal scent. In the east the waning moon—about three-quarters full, honey gold because it was still low over the horizon—began its rise. The air was still, and a light fog misted the lower-lying areas.

Janelle led the group to a low stone wall where they placed the pumpkins.

"Normally I wouldn't ask you all out here for a few minutes to watch us light a bunch of Halloween pumpkins," Janelle began, "but these did not turn out to be Halloween pumpkins. When we were talking about Halloween customs, Spock told us about _t'katra yonet_ , or spirit lamps, of ancient Vulcan. One thing led to another, and we all started carving spirit lamps instead.

"What makes our gathering here significant is that each spirit lamp is dedicated to a particular spirit. Following that tradition, we each dedicated ours to a certain spirit—I don't think I need to tell you who we all thought about. So, as we light our _t'katra yonet_ , I invite you to join us in remembering her."

Janelle lit a tapered candle. She walked to her pumpkin and touched the long candle to light the wick of the smaller votive candle inside. She handed the taper to Grace, who lit her votive. Kathryn, Amy, Celestine, and Nyota followed. Nyota passed the taper to Margaret. With Allen next to her, Margaret, with tears filling her eyes, lit hers and stood back for a moment. Finally she passed the taper to Spock.

Spock let down his mental shields, as he understood that ancient Vulcans did when they lit their _t'katra yonet_. It was said to do so was to open oneself to the spirit with which one wanted contact. All around him he felt waves of sadness and the sense of loss from his human cousins. From Nyota he felt concern. Margaret and Allen felt a deeper grief.

He stepped up, lit the votive, stepped back, blew out the taper, and waited.

The votives flickered through the lace-like geometric patterns cut into the pumpkins. Despite the cool air, Spock felt a warmth. And, amidst his mother's family, he felt a peace.


	18. Contentment

Nyota could not have been happier. Janelle's party was better than she could have hoped. The Graysons had been warm and friendly as they cautiously, yet eagerly included Spock in their conversations and activities. Spock, in turn, had been tolerant enough to endure some teasing and dryly provided a couple of zingers of his own—with the most innocent of non-expressions, of course. Toward the end of the party, he even allowed himself to be photographed with John, Marco, and Evan. "It's only right after you pranked them," Margaret told him. John, Marco, and Evan had been thrilled, both with the photo and the dubious distinction of having been on the receiving end of a Vulcan prank.

Nyota herself was drawn in for a photo with the trio, plus several more as other party guests wanted their own celebrity photos with _Enterprise_ heroes. Starfleet's public relations department had threatened the entire bridge crew with a round of "Charm School" if they did not occasionally grant these requests while they were out among the civilian population. Janelle's guests included people with extensive ties to the publishing world, so Spock acquiesced without protest. Because of his special circumstances, Spock was granted leeway for refusing such requests more than most, but he knew there was a line even for him.

Nyota offered to take a holograph of Spock with his Grayson kin. The Graysons, however, insisted that their family portrait include her. Allen joked that he was considering adopting Spock and Nyota anyway (and giving them Norah and Alaina's rooms), so leaving her out was not an option. He placed a very happy Nyota front and center next to Spock. Marco, Janelle's principal cameraman, had been pleased to take the nicely framed image.

Around midnight, the party began to break up. The good-byes between family members had gone long in the foyer and again on the front verandah. But finally the relatives departed and it was just Allen, Margaret, Nyota, Amy, Spock, and Janelle left.

"I am so glad that you came. You will visit us again, won't you?" Janelle asked Spock. Margaret had been right—once you got past the Vulcan reserve, he was very much his mother's son.

"I will," he replied.

"And you'll bring Nyota, too…?"

"That is my intention," he stated without reservation. "Thank you for your hospitality. You have honored us both."

"Oh, I assure you, we are the ones who are honored," Janelle said. "Don't stay away from the family too long. Take care of yourselves."

Nyota felt that the Grayson cousins had, indeed, bonded to Spock as his family beyond their blood ties. Spock's Vulcan appearance and manners had not deterred them from accepting him readily into their circle. Nyota guessed that they had had over 30 years to get to know Sarek, so perhaps those barriers had already been broken.

Spock, to his credit, had done nothing to ask them to change their behaviors in his presence. She had been afraid about how he would react when the Graysons spoke of Amanda so openly, but for some reason it did not seem to upset him as it might have done a week earlier. So much had happened, beginning with Spock's own acknowledgment of his need to grieve, then with his and Margaret's exchanges as they shared their own memories about her. Maybe being with others who also grieved Amanda's loss directly—and knowing that he was not alone—was key, too. The Graysons, Spock included, had seemed at peace after lighting the _t'katra yonet_ pumpkins. Nyota believed that the impromptu family ceremony had touched him on several levels, whether he realized it or not. She expected that he would meditate on it eventually.

The ride home was quiet through the dark countryside. Margaret and Allen, even Nyota, were talked-out after their eventful evening. Spock, as usual, was content to remain quiet until they arrived home.

"Whew! That was fun," said Margaret, hanging up her coat. "But my head is ready to hit the pillow. We'll see you kids tomorrow. Sleep in all you want. I plan to. If you want breakfast before I get to it, I have miniature quiches in the food stasis unit. Just grab one or more and heat them. And there's fruit, too."

"Thanks, Margaret," Nyota said. "Don't worry about us. Good night!"

"Good night, you two," said Allen, following Margaret down the far hallway to their room.

Spock followed Nyota up the stairs before turning into his bedroom to change into his pajamas. He was about to go across the hallway to wish Nyota pleasant sleep, as was his custom, when she knocked quietly on his door and entered.

"Hey, there," she said, closing the door behind her. "How are you doing?"

Why did she ask? He was calm. He was content. It had been an agreeable evening filled with interesting conversation and activities, although many of them were outside his usual experience. His mother's family had welcomed them, and he had not detected any duplicity on their part. He noted that many of the characteristics he knew in his mother were shared across the Grayson family, and he had been surprised when they happily commented on how he shared many of those traits as well. Was this what _belonging_ felt like?

"I am well," he said. "Are you concerned?"

She reached for his hand, then pressed her palm against his. "Let me feel you."

He let her take his hand and did not resist her mental inquiry. He answered her by dropping his shields.

_Contentment._

She smiled as the waves of his mental state swept over her. "Hmmm, that feels nice," she said. "I am glad. But it's been a long day. We should get some sleep, _Ashayam_."

Nyota released his hand and wrapped both her arms around his shoulders and neck. She pulled his head down to hers and gently pressed her lips to his.

She felt good, enhancing his already agreeable mood. As Spock deepened the kiss, his contentment turned to joy. For him this was a euphoric emotional state, which he did not deny himself as he consciously indulged his human side. For now he wanted it to continue. And he wanted Nyota here, beside him, for the rest of the night. Tomorrow he would find his center and return to a more stable, more Vulcan bearing. Tomorrow.

When he broke the kiss, Nyota looked into his eyes. There was a warmth there that she had not seen in a long time. Something felt different.

"Stay," he said, still holding her close.

She did not sense sexual desire. Instead he was in a rare affectionate mood. Tonight he wanted closeness.

She was more than happy to provide it.

"OK. Let me go close the door to my room and mess up the bed so it looks like I slept in it, just in case they look," she said, giggling when both his brows raised. Chances were that it was unnecessary, as neither Allen nor Margaret had been upstairs since showing them to their rooms days ago. "We don't want to look too improper, do we?"

He did not know how to respond to that, so he climbed into his own bed and waited for Nyota to join him. She completed her odd tasks in under a minute, walked in, closed the door, and turned out the lights. He felt her climb in next to him, then position herself with her back to his chest, nesting comfortably. He wrapped his arms around her again, pulling her close.

"You have a nice family," she said. "I'm glad we went."

"Indeed," he said, pulling her closer, nuzzling his cheek in her hair. "Sleep well, _K'hat'n'dlawa_."

"You, too."

Listening to Nyota fall into a comfortable sleep, he was content again. Even his usually demanding Vulcan mind did not have the audacity to disrupt this rare tranquility.


	19. Self-Doubt

Spock awoke as the dim light of dawn began to peek through the curtains. Nyota, who had again nested herself with both pillows (How had she taken his again?) and most of the blankets, slept peacefully. He rolled quietly off the bed, careful to minimize his movement, and walked to a corner of the room for meditation. Lighting a small candle, he focused on the flame, gathering his thoughts before embarking on contemplation.

He had much to contemplate. The stimulating sights, sounds, and interactions—even the food—at the party demanded interpretation and order. Which behaviors fell under the purview of Halloween, and which represented his cousins' traits and personalities? What had he learned from this experience? He settled into his posture, beginning the measured breaths that ushered him deeper into his own mind, then refocused himself more intently on the flame before finally closing his eyes.

He found it was difficult to analyze his experiences objectively. Indulging his human half last night had altered his perceptions. Now it was difficult to filter out the emotional aspects from the dispassionate assessment of his relatives and their interactions with him. Identifying the signs, aspects, and stages of non-professional relationships was not his strong point. At the Academy, he had not recognized the true nature of his own developing relationship with Nyota until she, exasperated and impatient after experiencing a life-threatening episode, bluntly outlined her feelings for him and the feelings she suspected that he had for her. Only then had he realized the type of "attachment" he had.

Since then, with Nyota's help, he had become more practiced at recognizing the cues and behaviors involved in developing platonic and romantic affiliations. Brilliant as he was intellectually, he remained uncomfortable making such determinations, as they often depended on his underdeveloped ability to read emotional subtleties.

Even though he believed that he and his cousins had found an affinity, he had been wrong about such things before. Many times humans smiled and professed one viewpoint while thinking another. His mother had called them, including some in her extended family, "snakes in the grass." But none of the Graysons at the party were among those that Amanda had named as such.

The Grayson cousins had treated him much as Margaret and Allen did. They did not appear uncomfortable around him. They shared their stories openly and enthusiastically. As the party had progressed, they teased him in the same manner as they teased each other. No one had made any snide comments that he overheard—and rarely had he attended a social gathering without hearing two or three about his appearance, heritage, or mannerisms. On the contrary, his cousins insisted on drawing him into their conversations and activities. Again, he wondered: Was this what it was like to belong? Did he belong?

A couple hours passed, and his meditations remained unsettled as human doubt and Vulcan reason conflicted. Finally he had to set his thoughts aside until he could gather more data on the matter. He brought himself back to full consciousness as the pile of blankets over Nyota's figure stirred.

One of her hands reached to his side of the bed to find him gone. Blankets flying, she sat up with a start. "Spock?"

She looked around, finally spotting him in the corner. He slowly opened his eyes, which met hers.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were meditating."

"I have finished," he said, getting up and returning to the bed. Nyota broke into a wide smile, pleased to see him. Her mood was infectious, and he set aside his doubts for the moment. He almost smirked as he stole back his pillow and reclined upon it as if to claim it, and he allowed her to see accusation in his eyes.

She laughed, realizing she had taken his pillow sometime during the night, which was typical. He was cute when he was mildly annoyed. Maybe more than mildly, as he reached over to steal back some more of the covers as well. His eyes glinted, challenging her to try and take them back.

"Oh, no, I'm not getting into another tug-of-war with you!" she declared. "I have a better idea." She moved closer to him, touching her forehead to his. "See? If we're close enough, we can share."

"In theory, yes," he stated. He sunk down further into his pillow and gathered the blankets around them. "Your nocturnal habits, however, do not suggest a proclivity for sharing."

She laughed. She could not deny it. This was not their first conversation on this topic, nor would it be the last.

"I had fun last night," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "Your cousins are great. What did you think of them?"

Objectively, he had an answer. "They were consistent with Mother's descriptions," he said.

"And how did she describe them?"

"She described them as hospitable and engaging. She noted their commitment to and excellence in a wide range of professions and pursuits. These traits were consistent throughout the group."

She rolled her eyes. "Spock, you make them sound like lab rats. What did you think of them personally?"

She was fishing for an emotion-based assessment. He did not have one, not one that he wanted to voice. "They were agreeable."

"Just 'agreeable'?"

In describing physical characteristics or professional profiles, Spock could go on ad infinitum, reciting every little detail. When describing personalities, Spock tended to be brief and to the point, so Nyota had not expected him to say much. Here he was holding back, even for him, and she was not sure why. She let the silence between them grow. It was always best to take uncomfortable discussions at his pace.

"Nyota, were their manners genuine?"

 _Hmm_ , thought Nyota, _that was an interesting question_. "Yes, they were. Why do you ask that?"

He looked away. "I am not adept at reading the nuances of human expressions in social environments. I do not wish to misinterpret them."

She realized what he could not ask himself. "Are you wondering whether they liked you?"

His expression remained unchanged, and he seemed to withdraw into his Vulcan self. She sensed his distancing from an emotion-based question as his mental and emotional defenses went up.

" _Ashayam_ ," she said, leaning over him and stroking his shoulder, "if only you could have heard them after you and Margaret left the room. Kathryn thought that you were absolutely charming. Glenn wished that we were staying longer so we could get together again. Elizabeth wants to have us over for supper, and Wyatt was almost begging us to…you don't believe me?"

His eyes no longer met hers. Was what she said really true? Life experience had taught Spock to guard himself against compliments, as most of them had not been made honestly. In personal relationships, Amanda and Nyota were the only two people in his life who had never deceived him. Keeping everyone else at a distance was easier. He had spent too many hours meditating on rejection and betrayal during his 26 years. He did not wish to do so again.

Nyota felt him stiffen in doubt. " _Ashayam_ , I'm your communications officer. You know that I'm trained to see through bullshit, and there was none of that. None at all. You are amazing and brilliant. Grace said that she had a hard time believing everything Amanda told the family about you until she met you. She was blown away. And she's not the only one. Look at me…"

Whenever Spock's personal insecurities reared, Nyota wanted to lash out at the people who had conditioned him to doubt his own worth. She wondered how much their bigotry had stolen from him throughout his life and mourned his losses whenever his doubts surfaced. Emotional wounds took longer to heal—if they healed at all.

She tilted his head back toward her. "Hey, hey, look at me…. They loved your mother, and they see a lot of her in you. Actually, Kyle said that you got the best from both parents."

Spock remained carefully neutral, reluctant to believe her, but he continued to listen.

"When you told us on the bridge that Earth was your home, too, you didn't know how true that was," she continued. "Allen, Margaret, Janelle, and everyone else last night have accepted you into their family. And I know that you felt it, too, especially when we all went outside to light the pumpkins. There was a real togetherness there—that's why you were so relaxed and content when we got home. Can you accept the fact that you are accepted here?"

Could he risk it, opening himself to what Nyota believed the Graysons were offering him? Spock had long sought the sense of belonging he had experienced at Janelle's, the kind of belonging he had sought on Vulcan. Old habits were hard to break, doubts ingrained over his lifetime difficult to overcome. But Nyota never hid the truth from him, and he trusted her observations.

"I wish to do so," he admitted quietly.

"Good. I know you do." She drew him into a hug and held him there. "The party was the first step. You will get to know them better over time, and they will get to know you." She pulled herself up and kissed his forehead before settling back down to her pillow, then smiled. "They're wonderful people. You won't regret it."

He felt better. Nyota's confidence brought him comfort. Her observations of and conversations with his cousins had been consistent with his own. "Perhaps their underlying motivation is to retain your acquaintance," he said.

She looked up, shocked, then realized his mood had lightened. "Oh?"

"The quote was, 'I hope that he keeps bringing her around.'" Spock did not add the speculation about upcoming weddings that he overheard as well.

She smiled. "That can only happen if you do keep me around."

He grabbed her tighter. "Do you believe that I will not do so?"

"You don't have a choice because I'm not leaving you, so the Graysons are stuck with me by default."

"I believe that they will be pleased."

"And are you? Pleased that you're stuck with me, I mean."

He touched her temple, sending a wave of joy and contentment. She had her answer.


	20. Dinner With Norah & Alaina

Fresh from their showers and a leisurely morning spent enjoying each other's company, Spock and Nyota finally came down to the main floor and entered the kitchen.

"And here they are," Allen announced dramatically, "Mr. & Ms. Popularity."

Margaret laughed at the pair's confused expressions. "He's not joking. The family is closing ranks. We've already had three invitations to dinner tonight. If we didn't already have plans with Norah, Alaina, and Safi, we could go on a gastronomic tour."

Nyota touched Spock's hand and sent him a thought. _See? What did I tell you?_

 _Astonishment._ He had not expected this.

"We would have loved to have spent more time with them as well," Nyota said. "Maybe next time?"

"Yes, next time you better plan on seeing everyone. We'll have to create an appointment calendar or else they'll all be fighting over you," Margaret laughed. "Want some tea? How about some breakfast?"

Margaret noticed Spock eyeing the food and quickly set a plate with two mini spinach-mushroom quiches in front of him. She realized that he had not eaten much at the party the night before, just a few selections. Perhaps he had been too busy listening, talking, or carving his pumpkin. Or, she theorized, maybe the food had been too strange. She supplemented the quiche with a small bowl of fruit sections.

"Nyota, what about you? How much would you like?"

"I'll take one to start."

Allen plated it and set it before her. "Fruit?"

"Yes, thank you."

"The tea's done," said Margaret, pouring each of them a mug of an orange spice herbal selection. "Eat up and drink up. After we're done, I'm putting everyone to work. We have veggies to chop for the lasagna. Guess who's in charge of that!" She looked pointedly at her nephew expecting some protest, but he surprised her.

"I would be honored to assist you," Spock said.

Allen laughed. "Putting that top-notch Starfleet training to use?"

More teasing. Spock knew it. "No, Allen, basic skills. Everyone must eat," he stated plainly.

Margaret lightly bumped Allen's arm. "Yes, basic skills that you somehow refuse to master. Listen to our young man! You're lucky I'm here, otherwise you'd starve or die of replicator malnutrition."

"Hey, we all have our talents…," Allen defended himself.

"Ha!" sniffed Margaret. "You can set the table then."

"How can I help? " Nyota asked, amused at the feud.

"Have you ever made lasagna noodles?" Margaret raised her brow with her inquiry.

Nyota shook her head. "No, but I'd love to learn."

"It's easy," said Margaret cheerfully. "If you can boil water, you can do this."

The foursome finished breakfast, cleared the table, and went to work. Margaret blanched and peeled tomatoes for the sauce while, under her supervision, Nyota mixed the noodle dough and began running it through a pasta machine. Allen went to the dining room to clean, set the table, and prepare the serving wares. Between tasks he found a couple bottles of wine, setting the Chardonnay selection to chill in a wine cooler and the Merlot on the buffet table.

Knife in hand, Spock surveyed the selection and quantities of vegetables next to his cutting board. They looked familiar. "Margaret, are you using Mother's recipe?"

"Yes," she said. "She made it for us one of the times she and Sarek were here. It's been one of our favorites ever since."

He had looked forward to this meal since Margaret mentioned it a few days ago. Most foods did not trigger anything other than a momentary acknowledgment of the taste. This lasagna was an exception. His human acquaintances often said that food could evoke recollections and emotional responses, so he suspected that his own response was one borne of his human side. In his parents' home, lasagna was one of his favorite Terran meals. As a cadet, he had had to suppress his disappointment with the Academy cafeteria's version of it.

"May I have a copy of the recipe?" he asked.

"Of course," said Margaret, happy to provide him another tie to his mother. "I'll give you copies of her other recipes, too, if you'd like. She sent me several over the years."

Spock continued preparing the various vegetables as Amanda had taught him in his childhood. He neatly lined up the uniformly chopped carrots, zucchini, yellow squash, scallions, and basil leaves in order.

Nyota stood over the stove breathing in the scent of a bubbling pot. "Mmmm, this sauce smells wonderful! Maybe we can bribe the galleymaster into making this."

"Bribery is ill-advised," Spock said as Nyota rolled her eyes at his literalism, "and I do not believe that our galley is equipped with a pasta machine."

"One could always roll the noodles out the old-fashioned way with a rolling pin," said Margaret.

"I don't think we could talk our cooks into it, not with a crew of 400," Nyota answered. "Maybe they'd let us use their facilities if we volunteer to cook for one of our senior staff lunches." She had already returned to her work table, sending another ball of dough to be flattened through the machine. A long noodle streamed out the other end. She adjusted the machine and sent the thick noodle through again. The machine flattened it into a thinner, longer strip, which she cut into lasagna pan-sized lengths. Nyota found the process satisfying. "Spock, we have to get one of these," she said, pulling the last of the noodles through.

Margaret smiled. "I'm glad you're having fun."

They finished their prep work, then Margaret shooed them out of the kitchen. "I can take it from here," she said. "Go see if Allen needs help with anything."

"No, I don't," said Allen, entering the kitchen. "Everything's ready to go. We could get out of Margaret's way and sit in the living room."

"I have just a few more photos to scan," said Nyota. "Then I'll be done. How long before Norah, Alaina, and Safi arrive?"

"A couple hours," Margaret answered.

"That will be plenty of time. Maybe I could start on my month-end summary. Spock, have you done yours?"

"No. This is an opportune time to do so. If I am not needed, I will work in my room. Excuse me." He started upstairs while Nyota and Allen entered the living room.

Allen's eyebrows rose. "Writing reports on leave? You two sure are busy."

Nyota shook her head. "We're the department heads, and paperwork goes with the territory."

Allen grinned. "Understood." He waited until Spock had disappeared. Allen heard Spock close the door to his room behind him, then leaned over to Nyota. "How's he doing?"

"Very well," Nyota said softly, touched that Allen asked. "I think he's finally relaxing, as much as he ever does."

Allen settled into his chair while Nyota took her customary spot on the sofa. "What did he think of the party last night? Were the relatives too much for him? They can be overwhelming."

"No, not at all. The party was a new experience, but he found it interesting. I don't think that he'd turn down another invitation." Nyota's tone warmed. "Everyone was so nice. He would like to get to know them better."

"Good. They'll be relieved to hear that. They were worried about making a good impression."

"Oh, they definitely did, every one of them." Nyota paused, then the words tumbled out. "Allen, they were so accepting. It was so wonderful. You have no idea."

Allen was not surprised to hear that. "That's important, isn't it?"

Nyota nodded. "More than you know."

"I thought so. That kid's gone through more crap in his life than anyone should," he said tightly. "It's a wonder he hasn't gone insane or turned into some kind of criminal. Instead he saved a world. I guess we can thank Vulcan mind disciplines..."

"…Or a supportive mother."

"Yes…Spock was lucky to have her," Allen agreed. "This whole getting-to-know-each-other thing was her idea. I have to admit that when I heard that you two were coming here, I did not know how we were going to get along. But Margaret insisted that we were going to, one way or another. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that we did—she's as stubborn as her sister was. We're sorry that this didn't happen sooner."

Nyota shook her head. "It couldn't have happened sooner. Spock wasn't ready. It took him awhile to get to this point."

"That could be.… Say, I'm about to go all mushy on you, so don't hold it against me, OK?"

Nyota laughed. "Go ahead."

Allen continued. "Now that he's met everyone, he understands that he has people to turn to, right? Even when I tease him?"

"Teasing? He understands that it's an 'illogical' human expression of affection in most situations." Nyota rose one eyebrow playfully and tilted her head. "You notice that he teases back? You notice that he teases _me_?"

"I've noticed." Allen laughed. "Sarek is also an inveterate teaser. He and Amanda could go back and forth all day. I think Sarek found it to be an intellectual challenge. Speaking of Sarek, we heard from him a couple months ago…any word on how he's doing now?"

"All his news is about the new colony, of course," she sighed. "He's an elder, so he's working on the organization of government and preservation of culture, but you probably already knew that. Spock has been sending him Vulcan cultural records and artifacts for the new archive whenever we encounter them."

"How's he doing personally?" Allen asked.

"From what Spock says, he works non-stop. There's so much to do, and he's got the Vulcan work ethic, but I think he may be trying to distract himself. He misses her.…" Nyota paused again, wondering if she should bring this up. "You and Margaret realize that he will have to marry again…?"

Allen sat back into his chair. "Yes, we realize that. It's hard for us, but we have no right to object, and we never would. He has to do what he has to do, and we only wish him well. We knew that he would outlive Amanda, but who expected that he would have to find someone so soon? We hope that he finds a good woman." Allen shook his head sadly. "When Spock saw Amanda that last time…Sarek was there, too, right?"

"Yes."

"That's what I thought. Poor man. I haven't been able to get it out of my head since you told us about it."

"Maybe I shouldn't have."

"No, it's all right. It helps me walk a mile in their shoes," he said sympathetically. "What happened to them would have happened to us if Spock, Captain Kirk, and the rest of you hadn't stopped it. It has put life in perspective, and it makes me appreciate everything we have here. But back to my original point: If you wouldn't mind, Nyota, could you pass along a message?"

"Sure."

"Remind Spock and Sarek that they have family here willing to help them in any way we can. And that includes Sarek's new wife, whoever she turns out to be. I'd tell them myself, but though I've known Sarek for years, I don't know the best way to approach him about something like this, and I'm just getting to know Spock and don't want to mess it up. There's Vulcan pride, and I don't want to offend, so…"

Nyota patted his arm. "I'll tell them in an appropriate way at an appropriate time."

Allen squeezed her hand in return. "Thanks, Nyota. I'll let Margaret know that I talked to you. Our offers are genuine."

"Spock will understand. I think Sarek will, too."

**-o0o-**

All four of the household's occupants sat conversing in the living room when the door chime sounded.

"I'll get it," said Margaret. She ran to the foyer and opened the door. "Norah, come in!"

"Hi, Mom," said the tall, brown-haired woman. She looked past her mother to her father and the two approaching guests and smiled. "Hi, Dad…and hello…Spock, it's been a long time."

Spock walked up to his cousin and looked at her from head to toe as she did with him. "Indeed. Greetings, Norah. May I introduce you to Nyota Uhura. Nyota, this is Norah Markham."

Norah and Nyota shook hands. "It's great to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you," Norah beamed.

"About me?" Nyota's eyes widened, her head tilted forward in question. "Has Margaret been telling stories?"

Norah shook her head and laughed. "No, Amy and Kathryn have. Don't worry—they sang your praises up and down. One thing I'll warn you about: Lightning is slower than family news around here".

Margaret folded her arms. "Norah, hush. You're making our family sound like a bunch of old gossips."

"No, we're just close-knit," Norah assured. "We like to stay in touch, and since I couldn't make it to the party because of that awards dinner I had to go to, Amy and Kathryn got me caught up. I would rather have been at Janelle's, trust me." She looked up at Spock. "I'm glad you came. It's been, what, 17 years since your last visit?"

"It has been 17.6875 years," Spock replied.

"Some things never change," Norah said affectionately as the rest of them laughed.

Something outside caught Allen's eye. "Looks like Alaina and Safi just arrived. We might as well wait for them before moving to the dining room." He walked up to the door, opened it, and called out. "Come on in! We're all standing here waiting for you," he teased.

Alaina, who took after her mother and Aunt Amanda, walked in first followed by her tall East African companion. "Spock!" she called cheerfully. "Whoa, how did you get to be so tall, Big Brother?"

Nyota caught a flicker of warmth behind Spock's eyes. She half expected him to answer Alaina's rhetorical question with a lecture on the pituitary gland and growth hormones, but he remained quiet.

"Big Brother?" Allen asked, confused.

"Well, at the time I wanted a big brother like my friend Emily and—sorry, Norah, you didn't cut it. Although Spock was younger, he was taller and smarter, just like a big brother should be. Do you remember, Spock?"

"I do," he replied. "You persisted with that moniker despite being informed otherwise—repeatedly. After a time, it proved easier to accept it than debate it."

Alaina laughed. "You earned your title. No one else ever defended me from bullies as well as you did."

"I think there's a story there, and I need to hear it," said Nyota, eyebrows raised in surprise, but intrigued at what she might learn about Spock, who simply stood in that dignified way he did when something embarrassingly unVulcan might be revealed. She smiled and turned to the new arrivals. "Hello, I'm Nyota. You must be Alaina and Safi."

"Where are our manners?" said Margaret. "Yes, Safi, this is our nephew Spock and his friend Nyota Uhura. Spock, Nyota, this is our soon-to-be son-in-law, Safi Afua. Safi, Nyota is also from East Africa. I'm sure you'll find plenty to talk about."

"I have no doubt," Safi replied amiably. "This is a pleasure."

"Let's hang up the coats and move to the dining room," Allen prodded. "I don't know about everyone else, but I'm ready to eat, and I don't intend to stand on ceremony. The smell of that lasagna is driving me crazy."

Everyone who was not Vulcan laughed. But the Vulcan among them made his way into the dining room as eagerly as everyone else. Margaret sat at the head of the table, Allen at the foot. On one side Norah, Safi, and Alaina took their seats. Spock and Nyota sat opposite of them. Soon Margaret cut everyone a generous square of the lasagna and a slice of garlic bread as each person passed his or her plate to be served. Everyone served themselves from the bowls of spinach salad and fruit passed around the table. Finally Allen poured the wine.

"There, I think we're ready to begin," Margaret said, lifting her fork, signaling to the rest that it was time to dig in.

Spock took his first modest forkful, barely waiting for the morsel to cool before biting down through the layers of noodle, cheese, vegetables, and sauce. The tang of the tomato sauce and seasonings combined well with the fullness of the cheese and noodles, and the sensation prompted a pleasant recollection. Although this lasagna was slightly different from his mother's—and Spock suspected that the flavor differences stemmed from the different flavors produced between tomatoes grown in Terran soil and those grown in Vulcan soil—it was still very good.

"How does this compare to your mother's?" Margaret asked.

"Quite favorably," Spock replied, sinking his fork into another morsel.

Margaret proved to be a good facilitator, easing each guest into conversation. She had Norah talk about her role as a sociology professor. Alaina talked about her work in rehabilitative therapy. Finally Safi talked about his research as a pathologist. Everyone already knew about Spock and Nyota's careers and backgrounds, except…

"How did you two meet?" Norah asked.

"At Starfleet Academy," Nyota replied. "We worked together in the linguistics department." Spock and Nyota usually evaded providing too many details whenever anyone asked them this question. They always chose general terms to obscure their instructor-student aide relationship. Spock pulled the "reserved Vulcan" routine while letting Nyota do the talking. To deflect probing questions, Nyota went on the offensive. "Alaina and Safi, how did you two meet? And how long have you known each other?"

"We met at work," said Alaina. "There was a staff mixer. The idea was to meet people from other departments to build interdepartmental relations."

"It worked," Allen mused.

"Yes, it worked very well," said Safi, looking at Alaina, who smiled in return.

"Watch out, here comes the mush," Allen warned.

"Dad!"

Norah threw her head back in a deep laugh. "Hey, he was asking for it!"

"Yeah, see if I invite you to the wedding," Alaina teased back.

"Girls!" huffed Margaret, but with a sparkle in her eye. "We have guests…"

"Even Klingons have better manners," said Allen.

"Oh, as if you should talk, Dad," Norah sniffed. "How have you survived this week?" she asked Nyota and Spock sympathetically in a loud stage whisper.

Spock noted her obvious playful tone and narrowed his eyes slightly. "It has been enlightening," he said slowly, echoing Nyota's tonal modulations whenever she wanted to leave a statement open to several layers of interpretation. His aunt's reaction indicated success.

"Oh, look who's talking!" Margaret exclaimed, plugging into the mood. "Let me tell you about 'enlightening.' Norah, did Kathryn or Amy tell you what he pulled at Janelle's party?"

"The costume thing? Yes…"

"It was Margaret's suggestion," Spock stated, falling into the cadence of the conversation.

"Oh, here we go again." Nyota rolled her eyes, then shoved her index finger into his bicep. "You are not blaming Margaret for that."

"It was an experiment," Spock continued, innocently ignoring Nyota's comment.

"Only a Vulcan could justify being a wiseacre as an experiment," Allen pointed out, faking his irritation.

"A non-standard implementation, perhaps," Spock suggested.

"Yeah, Spock, dig it in deeper," Allen said.

"I do not understand, Allen."

No one believed him, no matter how much Vulcan dignity he mustered. Nyota gave him the evil eye. He stared right back at her. It was going to be a stalemate.

"All right, that's enough of that!" laughed Margaret. "No wars tonight. Anyone need anything more to eat?"

"No, thank you, that was great," said Nyota, echoed by assents from the rest of the table. "Now I have to hear, Alaina, how did Spock get to be your 'big brother'?"

Alaina smiled. "Did you know that he can throw a mean snowball?"

**-o0o-**

_[17.6875 years previously]_

The February snowstorm left plenty of fresh snow, followed by a warm weather front and bright sunshine that created the ideal conditions for making a snowman.

"Come on, Spock," Norah and Alaina beckoned, eager to show their Vulcan cousin something new. "We'll show you how!"

Spock did not see the point of making something that, in a month's time, would melt. In fact, he did not understand the impetus behind creating snowmen at all. But Amanda insisted. "You are on Earth, and the activities are different. Respect that, Spock. See what you can learn from participating."

She helped him bundle up, carefully covering his ears and most of his face. Spock, like all Vulcans, was not used to the cold, even with the aid of the special cold-weather wear for off-planet use. Only his eyes remained exposed to the elements.

Once outside, Spock decided that the experience of working with snow was worthy of study. He had heard of Inuit igloos, so he knew that historically humans had used snow for shelter. However, in his mother's books, he had also read that the snow was cut into blocks for such purposes out of existing snowpack, not rolled into boulder-like masses as it was for snowmen. The physical exertion in rolling the boulders kept him warm, though, so he was content to assist his cousins in this endeavor. Although he was 8 years old, Vulcan physiology blessed him with twice the strength of his 10-year-old and 12-year-old cousins, making him capable of rolling a truly big base for the snowman, which delighted the girls. Spock did not say much, but he was cooperative.

Then it hit—literally. An exploding mass of snow to the side of his face.

Norah ran out in front of her younger sister and cousin. "Tommy Grabowski, you get out of here!" she yelled.

"Who's gonna make me?" Tommy jeered.

Norah and Alaina hated 13-year-old Tommy Grabowski, the neighborhood bully. He turned otherwise pleasant school days into days in Hell. It was bad enough that the girls saw him in school. What was worse was that he lived just down the street, so their paths crossed often. He was the kind of kid who wore a perpetual frown, whose brows hung over his eyes in a permanent scowl. Backed up by equally disagreeable toadies Nolan Sigstad and Kai Morganstern, his mission was to disrupt and annoy—at least it seemed that way.

"Are you gonna cry?" Tommy sneered. Nolan and Kai stood with snowballs in their hands, ready to throw at the slightest provocation.

Spock simply stared back. What was this? Why had they done that? Why did they expect him to cry? Illogical.

"Spock, can you throw snowballs?" Alaina whispered.

"Why would I do so?" Spock asked.

"Because they are going to throw them at us," she replied. "We have to defend ourselves."

"That is illogical," he said. "It serves no purpose."

"Why do you keep talking about that 'logical' stuff?" Alaina asked. Alaina had never heard the word "logic" during her entire life as much as she had heard it in the week since her cousin's arrival.

Suddenly two snowballs flew—one into the side of Alaina's head, the other against Spock's arm.

"Knock it off!" Norah yelled, hastily making a snowball and throwing it back. She missed all three of her targets, who laughed and taunted her more.

"They'll keep doing it if we don't fight back," said Alaina, who scooped up and packed her own snowball. She wound up and threw, glancing her snowball off Nolan, but Nolan had another one ready and sent it directly toward Spock's face.

Spock now understood the nature of this engagement and easily ducked out of the way. This situation was annoying and unnecessary. Disengaging himself and returning to the house was the most logical course, so he turned to begin walking there.

"Heh! What are you, chicken?" Tommy yelled. "Hey, Grayson, who is that anyway?"

"None of your business, you big poophead!" Alaina yelled back.

"Oooo, poophead…she called me a poophead," Tommy mocked. But Alaina had angered him. He wanted revenge, and he got it with the next snowball. Adrenaline aided his throw, and the densely packed snowball that was almost as hard as a rock hit Alaina squarely in the face.

For some reason, Alaina could not breathe. When she wiped the snow from her face, she also wiped the blood from her nose.

Spock had heard the snowball's loud impact, and he turned. Red human blood trickled to Alaina's upper lip, and she seemed stunned. Before he could tamp it down, indignation rose within him. This was unacceptable. This would not continue.

"You creep!" screamed Norah, now incensed. This went beyond the bounds of decency, even for bullies. "Look what you did. She's bleeding!"

Alaina remained in shock. She did not feel any pain—yet—as the snow's cold numbed any sensation. But it was going to hurt once they went back inside and her nerves reawakened with the warmth. The boys simply laughed.

"Ha, you big babies!" Tommy yelled back, scooping up some more snow, his palms ready to pack it into another frozen sphere.

He did not get the chance.

The second he looked up, his world went white as a well-aimed snowball hit him between the eyes. Two seconds later another hit Nolan in the mouth. A second later Kai's forehead was wet with the remnants of yet another. Then Tommy got another one on his chest.

"What the hell?" Tommy griped.

His companions had barely recovered from the first round when they were pelted in their faces with another round. In the half-seconds between rounds when they could see, they saw that it was the other kid, not Norah or Alaina, who delivered the frozen ballistics.

"Stop!" Tommy yelled.

"You will cease," Spock ordered, his voice firm and calm as he had been taught. "Leave us in peace."

Tommy's pride got the better of him. Who was that kid with the weird accent anyway? "Are you going to make me, Kid?"

His answer was another snowball to the face, followed quickly with another one to the chest, followed by another one to the stomach. The kid was fast, effortlessly scooping snow, packing it, and throwing it in one fluid motion after another.

"Stop!" Tommy yelled again.

More snowballs hit Tommy. Nolan and Kai had already retreated several meters back. Tommy was forced to do so as well, but the snowballs kept coming at regular intervals. No matter how he tried to evade, somehow the next snowball met its target. He backed away, and still the snowballs came. He ran to the street, and still they came. He ran down the street, and still they came, timed and aimed precisely. Tommy and his companions found no relief until they retreated behind a physical barrier, the fence around his family's home at the end of the block.

After resting a minute, rubbing all the places he had taken hits (he was sure that he would see several bruises before the end of the day), he poked his head around a corner post. Up the road in the middle of the street, the mystery kid stood, black eyes staring back intensely, another snowball in his hand.

Tommy, Nolan, and Kai did not dare emerge. That kid had a serious throwing arm and aim. He did not pursue them, but he was not backing down either. Perhaps it was time to go do something else.

**-o0o-**

Nyota sat with her mouth open. "You were in a snowball fight? _You?_ "

Norah sat back in satisfaction. "It wasn't much of a fight. He pelted them good. Tommy never bothered us again."

"And we threatened to sic our cousin on him if he ever did," Alaina added. "Not bad for someone who had never thrown a snowball before. Spock, did you ever tell Aunt Amanda about it?"

"No." Spock kept details of his altercations to himself whenever he could. "The matter was best forgotten."

Nyota smiled at the typical Vulcan reply. She had never seen Spock start a fight, but once engaged, he always finished them decisively.

"Spock, I never knew…you could have pitched in the Major Leagues," said Margaret. "And what's this about a bloody nose, Alaina?"

"It stopped bleeding. It was no big deal. We finished our snowman."

"You should have told me!"

"Mom, it was almost two decades ago. I think I survived."

"Makes me wonder what other secrets they're keeping from us," Allen mused.

"Secrets? Us?" Norah asked innocently, but pointed to Alaina.

"Secrets, huh? Well, who broke the bed that same week?" Alaina asked, indicating Norah.

Margaret and Allen exchanged confused expressions. "What do you mean 'broke the bed'?" Margaret asked. "Are we adults, and are we really having this conversation?"

"Norah was jumping on her bed to show Spock a somersault, and the frame broke," Alaina snickered.

"Tattler!" Norah laughed.

"I don't remember the bed frame breaking," Allen said, leveling a disapproval parental gaze at his daughters, then turned to Spock. "I suppose that you didn't tell your mother about that one, either."

"There was no need to do so. I repaired the damage," Spock confessed.

"Apparently your repair has held all these years. How did you fix it?"

"I replaced a broken peg with sections of two styluses."

Allen was impressed. "You're kidding! I bet they're still there. I have to go look. Spock, do you mind?"

"No," Spock replied.

Allen jumped up and quickly ran up the stairs. Moments later peals of laughter bounced down the stairway from Spock's room. Norah and Alaina giggled. Margaret smirked. Safi, Nyota, and Spock tried to keep neutral expressions. Only Spock succeeded. Soon they heard Allen's footsteps as he came back down the stairs.

Allen's eyes met Spock's merrily. "You used _hot pink_ styluses?"

"Yes," Spock said. "Norah supplied them." He had never encountered pink styluses before or since. Inexplicably, many young Terran females found items in that color appealing.

Alaina laughed harder. "We couldn't just ask you for a new peg without getting into trouble."

Allen put on his more serious parent face, still with a twinkle in his eye. "And who says that the three of you are not in trouble now?"

Nyota, Safi, and Margaret laughed. Spock looked confused. Alaina, and Norah tried to bat their best "Daddy's Little Girl" eyes, but could not finish their ruse without giggling in embarrassment.

" _Young Man_ , were there any other repairs in this house that I should know about? Anything else you care to confess?"

Spock tilted his head forward toward Allen, and one eyebrow rose.

Allen shook his head. "Uh-oh, that's what I thought…"


	21. Family Stories

Safi Afua used to miss his loud, lively extended family's spirited exchanges in Zanzibar until he met Alaina and her loud, lively extended family. He used to worry about overcoming potential cultural differences between his East African roots and this family's North American ones, but it turned out that the Markham-Graysons had already crossed a wider interplanetary-interspecies cultural divide successfully.

Despite this, he had understood the concerns that Margaret and Allen had shared about Spock's visit prior to his arrival. Like everyone else on Earth, Safi had seen Commander Spock all over the newsvids after Nero's defeat. In those newsvid interviews, Captain Kirk, not Commander Spock, did most of the talking. The glacial commander, unmistakably reluctant to discuss anything about the fate of his planet or his role in the Battles of Vulcan or Earth, provided only succinct answers to questions he barely tolerated. Based on these images, Safi had expected an uncomfortable meal with awkward conversation, although Alaina, drawing from childhood memories, told him, _Don't worry. He's quiet, but he's a nice guy._

Safi agreed except for one thing: Spock was reserved and had a quiet manner, but he had not been quiet. Though he remained a dignified Vulcan, the enigmatic commander did not shy away from the family's bantering.

"…You fixed the dishwasher, too?" This was Item #7 on the list Allen was compiling. "Was that really broken when you were here, Spock?"

"Margaret told Mother that irregular sounds emanated from it," Spock explained patiently, holding his own on the receiving end of Allen's comical interrogation. "Based on Margaret's assessments, it had been doing so for a rather extended period."

"And no one noticed that you took it apart?"

"I did so before others had awakened."

"You were up in the middle of the night?"

"He was probably bored," Nyota interjected. "He fixes things in my quarters all the time."

"While you're sleeping?"

"No, when I'm out on third shift. I rarely have to call maintenance for anything."

It was true. Spock often heard the beginnings of equipment malfunctions before Nyota noticed a decrease in performance. It should have been something that the ship's maintenance crew handled, not the ship's first officer. Neither Spock nor Nyota, however, cared for the intrusion into private quarters, so Spock preferred to deal with these matters himself.

Allen got back to his list. "OK, what else?"

Spock searched his memory. "I applied lubricant to all door hinges."

"And?"

"I performed basic hardware and software maintenance on Alaina's PADD. Its operating efficiency was well below standard parameters."

"And?"

"Norah's comm station also required basic maintenance."

"I'm not surprised about that one. She was on that thing constantly."

"Dad!" Norah protested while Alaina and Nyota tittered.

"Stop!" Margaret ordered. "Allen, drop it. It's just like living with my father again." She looked at Spock amusedly. "Norah's was the second comm unit you repaired during that visit, wasn't it?"

Spock shared a look of common recollection with his aunt. "It was," he acknowledged.

"I forgot about that," said Allen. "Margaret, tell Nyota the story about your father and Little Mr. Fixit here."

Safi noted a brief flicker of mild annoyance in Spock's expression before the Vulcan went blank again. He sympathized—over the years, Safi's family had delighted in telling his girlfriends childhood stories about him, too.

Margaret smiled. "Spock has a long history of taking things apart…"

**-o0o-**

_[17.6875 years previously]_

"Amanda!"

Howard Grayson was angry. His tone left no doubt.

"Dad?" came his daughter's voice as she rounded the corner from her parents' living room into the office alcove. Margaret and Jeanne Grayson followed.

Before them stood the tall, 60-ish human male facing down the 8-year-old Vulcan child. Hard blue eyes locked with equally resolute brown ones.

"Amanda," Howard began again tightly, "your son has destroyed this comm unit."

Before them, neatly arranged on a work cloth, were the contents of the now-empty shell of the home communications station.

"Oh, so what if he did? That stupid unit never worked, and you know it," said Jeanne. "It dropped three calls on me this week. I'm sick of it."

"It's a perfectly good unit," said Howard. "That's why I was working on it last night, and I was about to work on it this morning when I found … this." The more he spoke, the redder his face became. Amplifying his consternation was the fact that the child showed no remorse, no fear. In fact, the child remained perfectly calm.

Amanda stooped down to eye level with her son. "Spock, tell me. Did you take this unit apart?"

" _Ko-mekh, vesht kup gla-tor nash-veh—"_

"—No, Spock, in Standard. We are on Earth. Speak in Standard so that everyone understands," said Amanda.

Amanda shook her head. This was nothing new. Only when she and Sarek had returned home early from their trip to the market had they found Spock quickly trying to reassemble a scanner. In questioning him, they found out that he had at one time or another taken apart most of the appliances in the house over the preceding year. They had never noticed because he always managed to reassemble them before they found out.

"Mother, upon disassembly, I was able to identify the common source of multiple malfunctions. Basic maintenance protocols will address it," the child replied. "If I might be permitted—"

"No, he is not permitted," stormed Howard. "It's not a maintenance problem. It's a capacitor!"

"Incorrect," said Spock. "Dust is impeding the conductivity of several connections. The capacitor is functioning otherwise."

"It is not!"

"This meter indicates that it is operating within normal parameters."

Howard stared at his grandson, who, standing at perfect attention, stared right back. Howard's patience was wearing thin. Spock, however, simply stood his ground and quietly regarded his grandfather impassively.

Jeanne sighed. "Howard, you realize that you're arguing with an 8-year-old, don't you?"

"Why is that, Amanda?" Howard asked. "He needs to learn some respect."

"I don't see any disrespect here," said Jeanne evenly before a shocked Amanda could respond. "Your grandson seems to know what he's talking about. Maybe he should not have taken that piece of junk apart without asking, but other than that he's done nothing wrong. And, I might add, how long have I been saying that we needed to call in the service people for maintenance?"

Amanda and Margaret watched the familiar argument between their parents. Their father, always reluctant to part with more credits than necessary, refused to pay for regular maintenance on several devices throughout the house, preferring to maintain them himself. This confounded Jeanne, who could not believe that her fastidious and busy surgeon husband, who insisted that all his surgical equipment at the hospital perform at optimum levels at all times, refused to insist on the same for appliances at home. His budgets included generous maintenance and upgrade funds. At home… _You pick your priorities_ , he always said.

So Jeanne, Amanda, and Margaret had to contend with replicators, clothes freshers, and—worst of all—comm units that often broke down until Howard or Jeanne figured out how to fix them or, finally giving up after long and hard battles, bought new ones.

"Dad," said Amanda. "Let him try to fix it. If he can't, then I'll be happy to buy you and Mom a new comm unit." She looked at her son, who remained impassive. "Spock, the rules from our home apply here and everywhere else. From now on, you do not take apart anything without the owner's or governing authority's permission. Understand?"

" _Ha, Ko-mekh."_ Spock's simple answer in Vulcan, not Standard, was his act of defiance, one that his mother did not miss. Spock clearly thought that his grandfather's attitude was illogical, but Amanda did not excuse this bit of attitude on her son's part. She gave him a stern look in warning, which Spock understood completely.

Howard did not like the idea of being outsmarted or outdone by a child, though this one's intelligence ranked at genius level even for Vulcans. He looked back down. Spock returned his grandfather's gaze with big, deep brown eyes that stared back in challenge. The child had a smug and fiery confidence in this matter, standing at attention as he awaited permission to proceed.

"Fine," Howard relented. "But I'm going to be watching him every step of the way."

Jeanne looked at the ceiling. "For crying out loud … don't you try to intimidate him. He's not one of your surgical residents. He's a child."

"I'll do no such thing," Howard declared in his own defense.

"Don't worry, Mom," said Amanda. "Spock's focus will be on fixing the unit. Few things distract him once he gets going.… Do your best, Spock."

"I will," Spock replied, turning back to the comm unit to assess his next approach.

"Let your grandfather know what you are doing as you take each step, please," Amanda suggested, hoping to avoid more agitation between older and younger generations. "That will help him understand and ease his concerns. He is not familiar with your _talents_."

" _Ken-tor nash-veh,"_ her son replied. "I understand," he translated for the Terrans in the room.

Amanda smiled despite Spock's intentional slip back into Vulcan—he was testing boundaries today, which they would discuss later. For now she turned to walk back to her spot on the living room sofa, leaving her grumbling father and occupied son behind to their task. Margaret and Jeanne followed.

"Will he really be able to fix it?" Jeanne asked once the three women settled back into their spots. "I almost hope he can't. I'm ready send that stupid thing to the recycler."

Amanda smirked. "He's more stubborn than Dad is. Just wait…"

**-o0o-**

Allen laughed. "I was surprised when Margaret told me that you actually touched an appliance in Howard Grayson's house, Spock. You were a brave little boy. I'm surprised you survived."

"Bravery was not a factor," Spock stated, "nor was my mortality threatened."

Everyone else burst out laughing.

"You had no idea," Allen said. "One time your grandmother asked me to adjust a setting on their kitchen stasis unit, and Howard almost blew up. I learned early on that you didn't touch any appliance in that house. I don't know why your grandfather was so weird when it came to things like that."

"After you and your mother returned to Vulcan," Margaret added, "Mom never let Dad forget how well the comm unit worked after you did your thing. She called in the maintenance & repair people, and they went through the house top to bottom on everything. Dad wasn't happy when they got the bill, but Mom didn't care. She told him he was being 'illogical' about it, which really got him mad, but he never argued with her about appliance maintenance & repair again. Thank heavens!"

Nyota continued to giggle as she met Spock's confused eyes, then giggled even more. The more she looked, the more she giggled. Her inability to stop herself infected the other humans with laughter of their own.

"Nyota, what is so amusing?" Spock asked finally.

She touched his forearm as she tried to calm herself. "I'm sorry. These family stories are cute. I have this mental picture of a little you with a little tool belt fixing everything in the house. It's adorable!"

Spock wondered if Nyota had had too much wine. She was—what was the word she used one time? Giddy? Margaret met that description as well.

"Oh, he _was_ adorable," said Margaret. "Amanda said that when she sat him down to teach him how to play the piano, he wouldn't sit still until she showed him how the keys connected to the hammers that hit the strings to produce the sound. He had to know how it worked before he would play it. He was only 2 at the time."

Nyota, delighted by Margaret's reminiscences, looked up at Spock and smiled lovingly. Spock tried to ignore her stoically.

"He was the quietest child," Margaret continued. "He hardly said anything while he was here, and when he said anything, it was usually a question. After they left, Amanda said that he bombarded her with questions all the way back to Vulcan. Good thing it was a fast ship."

Intellectually, Spock understood that Margaret told her stories about him with affection. Although the stories themselves did not make him uncomfortable, the act of relating any story about him did. It reminded him of the stories told within Sarek's extended family during his childhood, most often unfavorable. He wished to end it, but how could he do so without offense or disrupting the pleasant mood?

Then he remembered advice and information that Nyota's mother had provided.

Safi continued to observe the interplay. Nyota and Margaret obviously were testing Spock's boundaries, and he was taking it, but Safi also sensed Spock's mind working on a way out of his predicament. Sure enough, Spock's eyes narrowed slightly and focused on Nyota, who had burst out laughing at another one of Margaret's stories.

"Nyota," Spock said quietly. "You are aware that you are the subject of your own mother's recollections."

Nyota's smile froze. Uh-oh. Where was he going with this? "What?"

"Your mother related _several_ of your childhood incidents to me." He paused to let the impact of his statement sink in.

Nyota knew he was up to something. "Spock…?" she asked warily.

Then he continued, drawing out his words. "One particularly interesting episode involved _paint_ and _red shoes_."

Nyota's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "Mama told you about _that_?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, by all means, Spock," said Allen, grinning. "Tell!"

"Don't you dare! Don't you dare!" Nyota waved her hands rapidly in protest, half-growling through her own laughter when it looked like Spock might do so. "Omigod, why did Mama tell you that story?"

"Your mother explained that knowledge of such anecdotes would someday be necessary for my own defense," Spock stated thoughtfully, a faint lilt of amusement in his voice. "I now understand her logic. Before I relate her anecdote, perhaps you wish to change the course of this conversation."

"But Margaret's the one telling the stories!" said Nyota.

"Did you not state earlier that Margaret was not to be blamed?" he asked innocently.

Exasperation crossed Nyota's face. "Good passive voice, Spock. I said that _you_ should not blame Margaret for what _you_ did. This is blackmail!""

"Margaret," said Spock slowly and patiently, "would this be an appropriate application of the idiom: 'The shoe is now on the other foot'?"

"Yes, Spock, I believe it is," Margaret snickered.

"And, Nyota, would it be appropriate to point out that the shoe is, in your case, red?"

"Ha-ha!" Nyota huffed, her face warming in embarrassment while the others laughed. Spock's eyes continued to meet hers in challenge. What other stories had Mama had told him? "Fine! We'll change the subject."

"That's OK," said Allen. "Although I'm dying to hear about Nyota, paint, and red shoes, we have plenty of embarrassing stories about Norah and Alaina that we can share instead."

"Dad!" his daughters chorused.

"In the interest of self-defense, I would like to hear about Alaina," said Safi. "My family has told Alaina too many stories about me. Nyota, our mothers are too much alike."

"And your aunts and uncles?" Nyota asked. "Mine are just as bad."

"Yes, and all my cousins, too!" Safi laughed. "There are no secrets! What one knows, they all know!"

"That's so typical in an East African family," Nyota observed.

"And it's so typical in this one, too," said Norah. "As I said earlier, news in this family travels fast. Shared stories and experiences in general create a greater bond between members of an organization, and we have one very cohesive family!"

Nyota nudged Spock. "Mama must really like you if she's telling you our family stories."

Spock, unsure how to respond, did not. He would have to think about it.

"Here's to families! Here's to cohesion!" laughed Alaina, raising her wine glass.

"To families and cohesion!" said the other humans, raising their glasses in turn.

"In the interest of cohesion," Allen began, "Safi, did I ever tell you about the time Alaina…"

Spock's thoughts wandered as Allen told a lighthearted story about Alaina getting stuck in her attempt to climb a tree. Instead of berating her for inefficient planning, poor climbing skills, or undertaking such an illogical endeavor in the first place, Allen chuckled as he described the unique contortions Alaina's body made wedged between the branches, then the unexpected problem-solving skills it took to devise a way to extract her. Alaina laughed as she described her own emotional distress during the incident as her father rescued her. Father and daughter shared their relief at the positive outcome, which had, indeed, forged a deeper family bond between them.

In the end, Alaina always knew that she could always rely on her father and the rest of her family. On an emotional level carefully tucked deep within, Spock envied that.


	22. Security

"Tomorrow is Halloween," Margaret noted. "We should have the usual parade of trick-or-treaters on our doorstep. Spock, would you like to greet them 'in costume' and hand out candy?"

Nervous snickering surrounded the table. Allen almost choked on his wine. "Margaret, you have to warn me before you do that!"

Spock turned to his aunt, eyebrow raised. "I believe it is more prudent that I observe the practice from the living room."

"Very well," Margaret smirked. "Let us know if you change your mind."

"I'm looking forward to seeing real trick-or-treating," said Nyota. "They used to trick-or-treat at the bars near the Academy, but it wasn't for candy."

"I suppose you didn't hit the bars," Allen said to Spock.

"No. I found it more conducive to complete lab work, as few others scheduled their work at that time."

"Getting drunk doesn't sound like my idea of a good time, either" said Norah. "I think that you'll find this bit of culture interesting, though. It enhances societal bonding by integrating younger members into a wider social group. Younger children learn how to interact with neighbors and friends. There is a protocol in place, so everyone knows what is expected from the interaction."

"So speaks our sociology professor," finished Allen.

"I can't help it," laughed Norah. "Observing interactions and groups is my business, and I thought Spock would appreciate the summary."

"She gets her observation genes from Mom," Alaina pointed out. "Just wait until our wedding when our families meet. Mom will paint it, and Norah will do a dissertation on it."

"Very funny. Speaking of painting, Spock, we need to plan some portrait time tomorrow. And, speaking of weddings, Alaina and Safi, have you two decided on a date yet?" Margaret asked. "We have to start letting people know about it so they can put it on their calendars."

"No, not yet," said Safi. "Our first choice is early September, but I have to plan around a symposium I need to attend. The sponsors haven't set those dates yet. I expect that they will within the next two weeks."

"Good, finally!" said Alaina. "Spock, Nyota, do you think you will be anywhere near Earth at that time? We'd love to have you there. I can't imagine a wedding without my big brother!"

"You'll have fun explaining that one to Safi's family," Allen laughed.

Spock and Alaina's eyes met, and Alaina laughed. She wondered how she would do that.

"We don't know where we'll be," said Nyota. "If we're nearby and can get leave, I'd love to go."

"That is desirable," Spock agreed.

"If you two married, where would your wedding be? Earth or at the Vulcan colony?" Norah asked.

Spock looked away and tensed inside.

Norah knew immediately that she should not have asked. "Oh, Spock, I'm sorry. Vulcan culture is more private than ours. I should have thought before I opened my mouth."

Spock met Norah's eyes in acknowledgment, nodded, but remained quiet. She was correct about his cultural conditioning, but his discomfort came more from living a life spent under observation, his recent celebrity, the years hiding this relationship at the Academy, and the need for him and Nyota to maintain decorum as bridge officers.

"It's OK, Norah," Nyota said. "There's Vulcan culture, but we're also a little sensitive to certain personal questions because of all the media attention. Spock gets the worst of it. And we get intrusive questions from strangers and acquaintances all the time who have no business asking the things they ask. I hope you're not offended."

"Oh, no, I'm not," Norah assured. "Aunt Amanda and Uncle Sarek told me about some of their run-ins with the media and busybodies. And I saw a lot of the garbage that the tabloids wrote about them. I get it. Mom, didn't the press destroy the lawn once?"

"It was terrible. We couldn't even enjoy a nice family visit," said Margaret. "And sometimes we had more trouble with the security people than we did with the reporters."

**-o0o-**

_[32 years previously]_

Allen peered out the window. The throng of reporters and camerapeople seemed to have grown during the last hour. An advance group of private security stood ready across from a line of local law enforcement officers, which held back the crowd. "She must be getting close. The vampires look like they're getting ready to feed," he sighed to Margaret as they waited for her sister's arrival. "She has got to hate this."

"I hate this," said Margaret. "Isn't there something the police could do?"

"They can only keep them off our property. The sidewalks and street are public."

Margaret shook her head. "Perhaps enforcing some law about disturbing the peace?"

"They can only do so much," Allen replied. "Maybe Sarek's security people will scare them off."

Suddenly the throng erupted into a frenzy as a string of black vehicles rounded the corner. The police held back the jostling crowd as the vehicles—a limousine sandwiched between two large security skimmers—pulled up to the front walkway. Once in place, several security personnel, Vulcan and Terran, exited the outer vehicles, securing the walkway. The Terrans formed a perimeter to deal with the crowd. Two Vulcans walked up to the limo, one opened the door, the other stood with luggage in hand.

They flanked the young human woman who stepped out of the vehicle maintaining a blank face. She did not look at the press, who shouted questions and comments at her to draw her attention. Swiftly and businesslike, the trio walked up to the door, which Allen opened before they could knock to allow them quicker entry. Allen shut it as soon as they were in.

"I am Stiran," said one of the Vulcans brusquely before the humans could exchange greetings. Tall and broad, Stiran had an imposing presence that immediately commanded attention. His olive skin, dark hair, sharp features, and penetrating eyes made him look his part, no doubt drawing his subordinates into complete compliance. "I am supervising Miss Grayson's security. May I have your permission to station officers around the perimeter of your property for the duration of Miss Grayson's visit?"

The other Vulcan set Amanda's luggage down in the foyer and stood at attention.

"Of course," said Allen, relieved for the help. He had already caught a trespasser in the back yard that morning. These two looked like they knew their jobs, which made him feel better. "Can you do a sweep for monitoring devices, too?"

"It is a standard precaution," Stiran replied. He turned on his heel with the other Vulcan in tow and walked out the front door, leaving the three humans to themselves.

"Thank heavens!" breathed Margaret. "I never thought you were going to get here!"

"I'm sorry about all this," Amanda said, her face breaking into happiness as she took her sister into a warm hug. "I have no idea how the media found out I was coming."

"We're glad to have you," Allen assured. "So, you're dating some guy. Seriously, some of these people really need to get a life. What's the big deal?"

They all laughed. Dating the Vulcan ambassador was a "big deal"—at least the tabloids thought so. Even the mainstream press showed interest in the influence this development could have on Vulcan-Terran diplomatic relations, so Amanda was never left in peace.

"I'll bring your bags upstairs," said Allen. "Do you need anything? Refreshments?"

"Oh, I could use a shot of whiskey!" Amanda laughed. "Or maybe some chamomile tea this time of day. Anything to settle down. Ugh! It never ends! Stiran is a capable security officer, but he's not the best confidante when I need to vent," she joked.

Margaret took Amanda's arm. "Why don't we go into the kitchen…I'll get the water started. Allen, you—"

" _HEY!"_ yelled a voice outside.

A scuffle broke out outside at the front of the house. Two security officers rushed in through the front door, one Vulcan, one Terran, and flanked Amanda again. They heard arguing on the doorstep, several Terran voices rose in response to calm Vulcan ones. A minute later Stiran entered.

"Dr. Markham, Ms. Grayson. There is an individual claiming to be a member of the local law enforcement authority. He says that you can confirm this."

"I'll go see," said Margaret. She recognized the officer on her doorstep surrounded by hired security. Out on the street, officers from the local department crouched with weapons drawn. "Yes, we know him. Let him go. Nate," she addressed the officer, "come inside."

Stiran blocked the door. "Ms. Grayson, I do not recommend—"

"Stand aside," said Margaret. "It's my house, and he's my guest. I've known him for years. So has my sister." Margaret looked out at the assembled enforcement officers. "For crying out loud," she yelled, "put those things down! We don't need more clowns at this circus."

The Vulcan eyed the "intruder," but stiffly moved to allow Margaret and her guest to pass inside. In front of the crowd, the commanding officer ordered his forces to stand down. The cameras continued to whirr and click. Margaret was disgusted with the whole scene.

"You," she addressed Stiran, "inside."

As soon as everyone was in, Margaret closed the door.

"Nathan Birkholtz?" Amanda said. "Is that you? And a police sergeant at that! That's wonderful!"

"Hi, Amanda," he said warmly, yet keeping a wary eye on Stiran. "Great to see you again. Hate to be abrupt, but I have to talk business. The lieutenant sent me because I know you. We need your security force to coordinate with our department. We've tried to approach this gentleman here"—he indicated Stiran—"but he hasn't been very receptive. It would make it easier to deal with the mayhem if we knew where his people were, and they knew where we were. They have rights under diplomatic law to provide for your security as they see fit, but we would be more effective working together if we didn't step on each other's toes, you know?"

"That is up to Stiran," Amanda stated. "However, I am sure that he can see the logic and diplomatic necessity in cooperation. Is this agreeable, Stiran?" If he did not, Amanda would have to call Sarek. She did not want her security detail causing a diplomatic incident in her family's own community.

"We will discuss the viability of such arrangements," Stiran said aloofly. "Sergeant Birkholtz, if you would accompany me."

"Back to work," said Birkholtz. "Nice seeing you again, Amanda. Thanks, Margaret."

"Nice to see you, too, Nathan," said Amanda. "Take care."

Stiran, Birkholtz, and the other security officers left, leaving Margaret, Allen, and Amanda alone again.

"Well," Allen mused. "That Stiran's certainly thorough. But I thought that these security folks were supposed to be less intrusive."

"Wait until he sends in the food tasters," Amanda said.

" _What?!"_ Margaret and Allen exclaimed.

Amanda broke out laughing. "Sorry, couldn't resist…you should have seen your faces!"

"Oh, you're a hoot," Margaret huffed sarcastically. "You don't pull that stuff on your boyfriend, do you?"

"No," she said. "His humor is more sophisticated."

"And we're not? Thanks a lot, Amanda," laughed Allen. "Now we're really feeling the love. Maybe we should just take you up to your room and leave you there."

"I wouldn't mind getting settled," she teased back.

From the study the comm station beeped. "I better go check it," said Margaret. Allen was halfway up the stairway with Amanda when Margaret called. "Allen!"

"Now what?" he asked.

"That was our new neighbor, Gladissa Garvin. She says there are Vulcan security guys in her back yard and she's concerned. What do you think should I tell her?"

Allen sighed. "I better go have a chat with Stiran, show him where the boundaries are. Then I'll go over and apologize to Gladissa and let her know what's up. If we see her house in the real estate listings tomorrow, I won't be surprised."

"Oh, Allen, I'm sorry," said Amanda.

"Awww, don't sweat it. I'm kidding." Allen continued up the stairway with Amanda's bags so she could begin unpacking. "It's a new, 'illogical' experience for us all. I think we're going to need some more practice with this. Stiran, too."

**-o0o-**

"Stiran got better at handling Terran-style security," said Margaret. "Over the years he and Nate managed to work together whenever Amanda and Sarek came to town. He was a detail nut, but he never did send in any food tasters!"

"That's about the only thing he didn't do," Allen smirked. "He was just doing his job, so I couldn't get too annoyed with him."

"I'm glad we haven't needed a security detail," Nyota said. "The press is bad enough."

"Sorry you have to live through that," Norah sympathized. "Aunt Amanda said that she hated people poking into her and Uncle Sarek's relationship, especially when they made things up. I'd hate to have people pry into my life, not that they would—it's kind boring!"

"I am surprised that the media has not pried into your relationship," said Allen.

"I don't think that they know about it," she said. "I have never seen or read anything linking Spock and me as anything other than colleagues. They usually link me with Jim Kirk." She shook her head. "As if!"

The humans laughed. Spock tensed, not that anyone other than Nyota could tell that he did. She decided that it was wise to change the subject.

"Maybe Alaina and Safi can tell us more about what they are planning for their ceremony," Nyota suggested. "I'd love to hear about it."

Safi and Alaina enthusiastically took up the subject, outlining some of their ideas about the African and Irish traditions they planned to incorporate into the celebrations. Nyota's thoughts, however, were now elsewhere. Over the past week, she and Spock had begun to know Allen and Margaret's family as well as the extended Grayson clan. They had talked about their work, their views, hobbies, likes and dislikes. In doing so, Spock had reached beyond his typical comfort zones on many levels, and Nyota was proud of his efforts.

However he continued to introduce her as his "friend," a designation everyone else had adopted for her although everyone knew that she was much more, which he was reticent to acknowledge openly. If he— _they_ —were to form the familial relationships that Spock had admitted to wanting, they needed to open up more about "the elephant in the room"—their relationship.

"Let's enjoy our dessert in the living room," Margaret suggested, breaking into Nyota's thoughts after Safi finished talking about the long guest list. East African families included many, many cousins, after all.

"I'll build a fire," said Allen. "Norah, would you help your mother with the tea?"

Margaret and Norah went to the kitchen. Everyone else made their way across the foyer toward the living room.

Nyota touched Spock's arm to make him pause before exiting the dining room. She turned to him and spoke quietly in Vulcan. _"We are within family, not at work or in public. The nature of our relationship is obvious, thus our discussion was within bounds. We need to be more open."_

" _Discussion of such matters is difficult,"_ he said quietly. _"We have endeavored to remain discreet."_

" _I know. But we cannot form a familial connection without opening ourselves to a greater degree. And I do not want to keep all facets of our life as a couple secret any longer,"_ she said, just realizing this herself. _"You are the most important relationship in my life. We should not remain hidden from our families and our friends."_

 _I wish to avoid becoming the subject of intrusive observation and prurient conjecture,"_ Spock replied.

" _Margaret, Allen, and your cousins are trustworthy and do not engage in prurient conjecture. They are not the media. I do not suggest that we expose our deepest, most intimate secrets,"_ she said, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks as she thought of one before recovering her train of thought, _"but I believe that we can share something of ourselves with them. This would strengthen our connection to this family. And it would make me happy."_

Spock considered.

" _They have shown that they accept us. Sharing some of ourselves demonstrates that we accept them also. Do you agree?"_

" _I do,"_ he replied hesitantly. He recognized her wisdom in this even if he did not completely understand the need to share details that Vulcans considered on his observations of human behavior and things Nyota had told him in the past, though, her words made sense. During the week he had come to value his mother's family. As difficult as it would be, he would attempt this adjustment. He trusted Nyota not to divulge anything that would violate a Vulcan taboo.

Truth be told, he understood her desire. Life would be easier if they no longer had to conceal themselves. The two of them expended inordinate energies in looking over their shoulders whenever they interacted, making intricate plans for avoiding suspicion whenever they attended events on the ship or in public. The majority of their interactions were hidden in his quarters or hers. She wanted others to know that he was hers, and she was his. He wanted the same. Within this family they could safely do so.

In a way, it was a relief.

Safi tried to observe them surreptitiously as he guided Alaina to a place next to him on the sofa. The even tones of spoken Vulcan intrigued Safi. From Nyota's slight facial expressions, he believed that she was trying to talk him into something, but one would never know it from the minimal intonation in their words. He hoped that, whatever the issue was, it was not serious. Nyota and Spock seemed like a nice couple, even if they were guarded.

Pleasant conversation filled the rest of the evening. Spock returned to a less pensive state, even when Margaret and Allen told more family stories. Finally, it was late. As Norah, Alaina, and Safi took their leave, the three cousins agreed to remain in active contact.

"I will miss you, Big Brother," Alaina said, smiling.

" _Sa-kai_ ," Spock supplied.

"What does that mean?"

"That means 'brother,'" said Nyota to Alaina's delight. "That makes you _ko-kai_."

" _Sa-kai_ ," Alaina repeated. "You be careful out there. I want to see you at our wedding!"

"You have our comm numbers," said Norah. "We expect to hear from you two. And, yeah, stay safe!"

"We will endeavor to do so," Spock replied, then held his hand in the Vulcan salute. " _Dif-tor heh smusma._ "

Alaina laughed, holding her hand in return. "I think I even know the response: _Sochya eh dif_."

Spock nodded in approval. Alaina was pleased.

"Take care of yourselves. It was wonderful meeting you at last!" said Safi.

"Bye!" said Margaret and Allen.

The foursome returned to the living room and the warm glow of the fire. Nyota and Spock found places on the sofa. She leaned into him slightly, but he remained calm and relaxed. Allen and Margaret pretended not to notice.

It was satisfying.


	23. Halloween Spooks

Although he had fallen asleep easily, Spock awoke in the middle of the night a few hours later, reflecting on his cousins' visit the evening before. His easy camaraderie with Norah and Alaina simply continued from where it had been when they were children. And they still shared a few secrets—the snowball fight and Norah's broken bed frame were not the only incidents that they had kept to themselves all these years. Outside of the girls' school and homework, as well as Spock's independent study, the three had found creative avenues outside of their parents' supervision for their energies and curiosity. Not all of their activities would have met with parental approval, however, especially the experiments conducted with common household products in the basement. If Spock had not known how to neutralize one concoction-gone-awry, green foam would have submersed the home's entire lowest level. The three had barely cleaned up their mess before Allen called them upstairs for supper. For the rest of Spock's stay, the girls had giggled at anything resembling green foam.

So, last night, when Margaret had served everyone green pistachio pudding for desert—one in the same green shade as the foam had been all those years ago—Spock looked up to see his cousins looking back at him, stifling giggles. Their faces had the same expression that Nyota's did when she was thinking of a humorous secret. It did not take long for Spock to realize what they were remembering, but he was unsure why they found it funny. It had been an interesting experiment, however. He tilted his head back at them, then rose an eyebrow to acknowledge his recognition of the memory before spooning in a mouthful of pudding. Fortunately Nyota and Safi, engrossed in their own conversation, had missed the trio's silently shared moment. Margaret and Allen's attentions were on dishing their own desserts before they settled into their own seats, and Allen regaled them with more family tales.

Spock noted the easy flow of food and conversation. During the week in this home, the familiar atmosphere continued to remind him of his parents' home on Vulcan. There was a certain comfort here, but how? Was his presence among family the seminal factor in this?

No, he had never found such easy affinity with his Vulcan relatives in their homes. Nyota said that his Terran family accepted him—surely this eased their interactions. But he could not help thinking that there was another contributing factor that he could not identify. As with many things this week, the question demanded more meditation. But that would have to wait. For now, he should sleep.

He slept for a couple hours before a new round of consciousness determined he would sleep no more. He got out of bed and reached for his gym duffle, taking out his running shoes and workout clothes. According to the external temperature readout on the room's comm station, it was a colder morning, so he reached for thermal base layers as well before dressing. He finished with socks and shoes before walking out into the hallway…where he met Nyota on her way back from the bathroom.

She looked him up and down. "Isn't it early for a run, even for you?" she whispered.

"I am in no need of further sleep," he replied. "You are awake earlier than is customary for you."

She smirked. "Nature called. After all that wine last night, I drank too much tea to compensate. But I'm not going back to sleep, either. Wait, I'll go with you. I need to work off that lasagna."

He nodded. This was a most agreeable development. She disappeared into her room while he walked down the stairwell and into the foyer to grab his hat and gloves. Fortunately she was quick, and he did not have to wait long. He wrote Allen and Margaret a note telling them that he and Nyota went jogging, and he made sure that he propped it up prominently against the kitchen table's centerpiece so that it would not get lost under dishware again. Nyota nodded her approval.

"Let's go," she said, opening the front door into the darkness of the early morning. She wore a hat with a headlamp, as she often did for pre-sunrise runs. Spock's night vision was excellent, so he did without. The pair began a slow jog to the trail access, then increased their pace once they reached the trail itself.

**-o0o-**

The aroma of coffee pervaded the kitchen as Margaret breathed in the steam from her freshly poured cup. She could use a punch of caffeine. It had been an eventful week. Maybe the four of them could take it more easy today. For now, Spock and Nyota were out jogging. Allen was in the shower. Aside from another hour or two working on Spock's portrait and handing out candy to trick-or-treaters, she had no plans. Good.

"Good morning, Allen," she greeted her husband once he arrived in the kitchen. "I'm about to make some waffles. The kids will be hungry when they get back from their run. How many do you want?"

Allen grabbed his own cup and sat down. "Three. They're running?"

"That's what the note said." Margaret picked it up and waved it in front of Allen's face. "Which I found because no one sat his plate on it this time."

Allen rolled his eyes.

The comm station in the next room beeped. Allen sighed. "So much for a peaceful morning."

"I'll get it," said Margaret. "It's probably Janelle offering us Halloween goodies." Margaret walked to the study, sat, and flicked on the screen.

_CommLink Requestor: Gladissa Garvin_

What could their neighbor want at this time of day? "Accept," said Margaret.

The screen revealed that Gladissa had not been awake long. Though her hair was neatly combed and pulled back, she remained in her robe. "Hi, Margaret," she said. "How's it going?"

"Hey, Glady, what's up?"

"I was about to ask you that."

"Huh?"

"Which of your relatives is in town this time?" Gladissa asked, trying to keep the mood light. "Or haven't you noticed the mob of reporters in front of your house yet?"

"What?!" Margaret's heart fell. This was the last thing anyone needed. "Allen!"

"I'm already on it," Allen replied, having overheard the conversation. He walked through the foyer and peered out the shutters next to the door. "Oh, crap! Margaret…there's dozens of them! The Halloween spooks are here. How appropriate!" he grumbled tightly.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Gladissa asked. Over the years, she and her husband had been helpful whenever Amanda or Sarek visited. Margaret and Allen could not have expected nicer neighbors. The Garvins were family-oriented people who understood the value of discretion and privacy. In fact, Gladissa, who railed against intrusive journalism in all its forms, had proven to be an excellent ally in thwarting nosy paparazzi in any way she could. She knew the routine. "I already called the police. Nate said he'd be right over. So, Margaret, which one is it?"

Margaret appreciated her neighbor's initiative. "It's my nephew, Spock, this time. This is the last thing he needs right now." She intentionally did not mention Nyota—no sense letting any more people know about her than necessary.

"What is it, anyway? The press has no business pestering every Vulcan they can track down!" Gladissa was setting up for one of her tirades on this topic. "Don't those poor people have enough to deal with right now? Don't people have a right to privacy?"

"Well, here's the situation," said Margaret, interrupting the rant that could have gone on for 10 minutes. "He went out for a jog, and the horde outside probably showed up after he left. I wish I knew how we are going to get him back without putting those piranhas into a feeding frenzy. He's like his father and can handle himself, but I'd rather avoid subjecting him to any more than he already gets. I need to call him and warn him."

"You do that," said Gladissa. "Call me if I can help."

"You've already done so. Thanks, Glady."

Knowing Margaret needed to warn her nephew, Gladissa ended the call quickly. "Anytime. Good luck."

Margaret was entering Spock's communicator designation when Allen shouted. "Thank goodness! Nate and his bunch just arrived. Oh, they're pulling out the barricades. Good, Nate, you put those no-good, pains-in-the…" Allen's commentary continued until Police Chief Birkholtz broke away from his officers to walk up to the door. Before he could knock, Allen opened the door and eagerly let him in.

"Hi, Nate," said Margaret resignedly.

"Seems like old times," Birkholtz said. The only difference was Stiran's absence—Birkholtz now ran the whole operation. "I take it you have another relative in town."

"Commander Spock, my nephew."

"Amanda and Ambassador Sarek's son…," Birkholtz nodded, feeling a momentary pang for Amanda. On her visits, she always made a point of thanking the police for their assistance. He always liked her. "I can see why the throng would be interested in him. Where is he?"

"Out jogging. I was about to call and warn him when you arrived."

"He's out there by himself?"

"No," Margaret answered reluctantly. In order to do his job, Birkholtz needed to know the entire situation. "He has a friend with him—an _Enterprise_ crewmate, actually. Lieutenant Nyota Uhura."

Birkholtz's eyes widened. Like most people, he knew who Lieutenant Uhura was. What was she doing here with Commander Spock? True or not, he knew where speculation would go: The Vulcan hero bringing a woman home to meet his mother's family—what a juicy tale the tabloids would make of that! The paparazzi would stop at little to be the first to photograph them together. It raised new concerns about controlling the crowd outside.

"That…is interesting," the police chief said. "The gossip-mongers are going to have a field day with that."

"To say the least," said Allen. "It would be Amanda and Sarek all over again."

"They are nice kids; they just want to be left alone. It was supposed to be a nice family visit," said Margaret wearily. "Why do they have to deal with this crap? Can't your people just haul the lot of those buzzards outside off to the pokey?"

Birkholtz realized Margaret's questions were rhetorical, a way for his long-time friend to vent. "Contact him," he said, giving Margaret something productive to do. "If there is somewhere where he and Lieutenant Uhura can hide out for the time being, tell him to go there, lay low, and wait for instructions until we determine the best way to handle this."


	24. In Plain Sight

They took a break, finding a convenient stopping point where the trail hugged a higher bluff along the creek at an overlook that offered a pleasant view of the forest below. Nyota steadied her foot upon the bench as she tightened a loose fastener on her shoe while Spock bent at the waist to stretch his long legs before his muscles tightened in the cool air. He had just touched his toes when his communicator beeped. Nyota looked up, surprised, while Spock stood back up and retrieved the device from his pocket.

"Spock here," he said.

"Hey there, it's Margaret. I hate to tell you, we have a situation here."

The tremor in Margaret's voice raised their own concerns. Nyota walked to Spock's side where she could hear the communicator more clearly. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Sorry, kids." It was Allen. "The paparazzi have found you out. We're under siege."

"How many?" Spock asked.

"I counted 32."

Nyota's lips thinned in consternation at her own visions of a mob scene. Spock automatically steeled his features into careful control, as he always had throughout his life whenever he had to deal with the media.

"Is there anything on the news feeds about why they are there?" Nyota asked. "Are they there because of Spock, me, or both of us?"

"That's a good question—I'll do an information search and let you know," said Margaret. "In the meantime, you need to stay out of sight. The police are controlling the crowd now, but I don't know if they'd be able to hold them off if they saw you. Chief Birkholtz is here, and he wants you two to find a place to hide out until he and his officers figure out how we're going to get you back to the house without causing a riot. Do you have somewhere to go? By the way, where are you?"

"We're on the trail," said Nyota. "About seven or eight kilometers down."

"We are 8.2 kilometers from your location," Spock supplied. From the communicator speaker, they heard Allen try to hold back a laugh. This was not the first time Spock wondered why humans often laughed when he provided accurate data. For now, he ignored his own query and turned his attentions to finding a hiding place. "We are within two kilometers of Mayo Clinic D-3. Perhaps a waiting room there is appropriate for our needs."

"Waiting in a waiting room…that will probably work," said Margaret. "Anyone else who's waiting there has bigger things to worry about and won't give you a second look. Just find a quiet corner."

"We will do so."

"And Spock? Nyota?"

"Yes?" they replied together.

"You two need to talk about how you are going to handle the media exposing your personal lives to the world. Amanda and Sarek had a plan in place for when it happened, and it turned out to be a very wise precaution. The reporters couldn't rattle them into accidentally revealing things or saying something embarrassing because they knew ahead of time how they were going to handle the reporters' tricks and tactics."

Spock and Nyota nodded to one another. It was practical advice, and they had discussed this eventuality before. But with the situation upon them, they needed to make final decisions.

"I'm so sorry. This shouldn't be happening, not on this visit," Margaret continued. "Your personal lives should be no one's business but your own. It's unfair."

"We will manage," Nyota said. "It had to happen someday."

"Too bad that it's today," said Allen. "We'll call you as soon as Nate decides what to do. In the meantime, be careful. And if you feel the least bit threatened, call us immediately. We Markhams and Graysons stand by our own. We'll do whatever it takes to rescue you."

 _We Markhams and Graysons stand by our own._ Spock found temporary comfort in that. For now, he and Nyota needed to deal with their situation. "We shall do so. Spock out."

As he closed the communicator, Spock looked to Nyota, who stood stiffly to his side. Her eyes were hard, staring off over the forest below their vantage. He reached for her hand to assess her emotional state and received waves of anger at the media and apprehension for their future. He was accustomed to reporters, their cameras, and listening devices that had intruded upon him his entire life. Although Nyota already knew media intrusion in her public life as a member of the _Enterprise_ bridge crew, now she would have to face a new level of intrusiveness that delved deeper into her personal life, and not all of it would be complimentary.

"Argghhh!" she growled suddenly, letting go of his hand and pumping her fist in the air. "They can just go to Hell! All of them!" She turned to him, her brow concentrating in fury. "Want a plan? Well, here's our plan: No matter what they do, no matter what they say, we are not going to let them come between us. You hear that?"

"I am Vulcan. My hearing, as you well know, is excellent," he replied, trying to diffuse her anger.

Her jaw dropped. What did he just say?

Surprisingly, Spock's outward calm was mirrored inside. First, for Spock to be otherwise violated Vulcan behavioral models, and he found strength in Vulcan mind disciplines. Second, meditation on Nyota's request to acknowledge their relationship more openly had provided many revelations about their situation. After attempts throughout his life to live up to others' standards, standards that could never be satisfied no matter how hard he tried, he had decided that it was illogical to concern himself with them. And, he could not discern how general knowledge of their social arrangement, one that billions of other couple also entered, would have any real affect on their relationship.

Finally, under stress, Spock had observed that his and Nyota's inclinations were to rely on one another instead of turning away, despite the stresses of their Starfleet careers and their personal losses. Sarek and Amanda had withstood similar challenges successfully as they dealt with their careers and the press. Margaret's stories about their experiences had made that clear. Armed with this knowledge, Spock was confident that he and Nyota could do likewise.

Nyota's anger caught up with her again. "This is serious! We're on the verge of having our private lives put out there for the entire quadrant's entertainment. And it pisses me off!" She turned, facing Spock squarely, and punched her right fist into her left palm. "Dammit!"

"Nyota…"

"This may be the most stupid question ever, but aren't you upset?"

"I am not fond of the prospect, but no." He stepped closer to her. "As you said, it was inevitable. And I have reconciled the consequences with the benefits of this development."

"Benefits? What benefits?"

"The considerable attention and effort we have expended in taking precautionary measures in our discretion and concealment would no longer be necessary."

"And what about being the subjects of—what was that you said? 'Intrusive observation and prurient conjecture'? Can we handle that?"

"My parents did so successfully, and we shall do so as well," he said, taking her hand again and projecting calmness to comfort her.

She nodded. Although Spock often had personal doubts, they never interfered with his devotion to her. Once he set his mind to something, he refused to fail.

"And, we have an advantage that they did not," Spock continued. "In 5 days, 3 hours, and 23 minutes, the _Enterprise_ leaves Spacedock. Paparazzi are prohibited aboard Starfleet vessels."

Nyota managed a small smile. "And we are an open secret among the crew anyway, so we won't surprise anyone there."

"Indeed."

"OK, maybe I'm feeling better, but I still hate this. And we still have to figure out what to do until we get back on the ship."

"Yes, Margaret is correct. We need a plan," he stated. "Your expertise in this area surpasses mine. What do you suggest?"

She considered. "Ideally, we need to take control the flow of information—how it gets out—to influence first impressions and perceptions," she said. "If the media are going to find out about us, we're better off telling them about it ourselves instead of them discovering us trying to hide it."

The Terran media's handling and prioritization of information often mystified Spock. Even the communications professionals at the Vulcan Embassy had admitted to Sarek their confusion with some practices, though after a time they did discover several strategies that produced the results they intended. Where they lacked in expertise, Sarek and his staff had turned to Amanda to explain the intricacies, as Spock turned to Nyota now. "I do not understand."

"The more you try to hide a secret, the more curious the paparazzi and the public become," Nyota explained. "They can't resist the mystery, so they become more aggressive, looking for more detail. It's worse if they are the ones to uncover the secret because it's assumed that where there's one secret, then there must be many more. The cycle continues, and the paparazzi become more aggressive."

Nyota took a deep breath before continuing. "If we reveal our relationship on our own openly, they don't get the thrill of discovery. They will be interested, but they won't be as vigorous in their coverage because they did not 'uncover' it. We're also less likely to be billed as 'forbidden lovers' or something else stupid that starts equally stupid speculation."

Spock remained unsure about the motivations of the Terran press. Would additional explanation resolve his confusion? Probably not. Instead he nodded, accepting Nyota's observations. "We should proceed to the clinic," he said, noting that more people were populating the trail. "We can review our prospects more privately there."

Nyota agreed, and the two, now rested, leisurely jogged again down the trail, doing their best to look like the rest of the joggers out that morning. Fortunately, few gave them a second look, lost in their own minds as earpieces spilled music through their ears to block out the rest of the world. Ten minutes later, as they neared the clinic, the scenery began to look familiar to Nyota. From the clinic trail access, she identified Amanda's garden, the one Spock had showed her telepathically just days ago. "Spock, that's…?"

She did not need to finish her question. "Yes," he replied.

A pathway drew Nyota's attention toward the garden's central fountain, now emptied of its water to preserve it during the winter. Spock followed and noticed several differences from what he had seen just days ago. Two big, slimy, creepy purple hands gripped the fountain walls while six green eyes on a bulbous purple mass peered out from the fountain's interior toward passers-by. At each walkway corner and sitting on some of the benches were Halloween pumpkins carved in the more traditional faces and patterns that they had learned about at Janelle's party. From the trees overhead hung sheets configured to look like ghosts.

Nyota laughed. "You didn't show me any of this. I'm guessing that they decorate for Halloween."

Spock tilted his head in acknowledgment as he guided her closer to the fountain and the plaque dedicating the garden to Amanda. Nyota read it, solemnly closed her eyes, then reopened them slowly looking up to the woman's devoted son. Nyota's chest constricted a bit as her sadness and compassion flared in response to her thoughts of his loss. "Your mother…this is a beautiful gift she left here."

"She served," said Spock quietly. "Now others do so in her stead."

"To touch lives and heal hearts, and it continues because of her inspiration. I wonder, how many leave a legacy like this one?" Nyota asked. She put her arm around his waist, and he did not resist. "I'm glad I am here to see this place in person. Maybe it's not the Vulcan thing to do, but you should be proud of her."

The human in him was, though the Vulcan would not allow him to say so easily. Nyota, however, understood his silent contemplation through the warmth he sent when she took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently, briefly before letting go. Deep in their thoughts, they missed the sound of approaching footsteps.

"I did not expect to find you here again."

Spock and Nyota turned. David Swenson raised a hand in friendly greeting.

"And who is this?" Swenson asked, brightening as he saw Spock's companion.

"Good morning, Mr. Swenson. This is Nyota Uhura."

The volunteer gardener/hospital dietician smiled and extended his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, Miss Uhura," he said with a wink at the pretty young woman. He thought Spock had very good taste.

"The pleasure is mutual," she said in return, instantly liking the man before them. "Spock told me about you and this garden. It's lovely, and I bet it's even lovelier when the roses are blooming."

"It is. You'll have to come back and see it when they are. What brings you here this fine morning?"

In Margaret's stories, Amanda had put her trust in "Davey" at pivotal times in her life. Spock decided he would follow his mother's lead and trust his mother's friend as he and Nyota faced their own pivotal moment. Somehow it seemed right. "Mr. Swenson, we find that we are in need of assistance."

"I will help as best I can," Swenson promised. "What do you need?"

Spock relayed the events of the morning, ending with Chief Birkholtz's directive to find a place to conceal themselves. "Do you have suggestions?"

"For avoiding the media circus?" Swenson snorted. "If it's anything like your mother had to go through, I don't doubt that they are all over town looking for you now. Let's hide you in my office, out of sight, until the police figure out what to do."

"You do not have duties here?"

"I'll be done as soon as you help me set the rest of these pumpkins around the garden—there aren't too many left. My office is just across the lawn. We'll go in through the back. Then I'll get you something else to wear. You'd be less noticeable if you didn't have Starfleet Academy logos across your shirts."

"True," Nyota agreed. "Maybe we should have painted targets on our foreheads instead. We'd stand out less."

Spock, recognizing the sarcasm, rose one eyebrow slightly. Swenson laughed, then pointed to his wagonload of pumpkins. Starfleet efficiency took over as Spock and Nyota quickly located display spaces for the laughing, frowning, and surprised pumpkin faces at pathway junctures and atop prominent boulders. The three quietly dropped off the wagon at a gardener's shed, then walked across the greenspace to a building at its far end. Swenson swiped his identity card through a reader at the back entrance, and they were in. A climb up two flights of stairs, then a short walk down the hallway brought them to Swenson's office.

Swenson opened the door. "Sorry for the mess; these baskets have taken over."

Nyota looked over the scene, curious. The room looked like a Moroccan bazaar with, she guessed, 50 big, round orange baskets that resembled pumpkins themselves on Swenson's desk, the couch, the two chairs, on top of the books on the bookshelves, and, except for a small pathway, everywhere on the floor. Filling each basket to the brim were candy, toys, and small amusements.

"Here, let me clear these chairs for you," he offered, moving a couple baskets to balance precariously upon the pile of others on his desk.

"This looks like a project," Nyota observed. "What are they all for?"

"It's for the 'Reverse Trick-or-Treat' event today," Swenson said, gesturing to the two seats he had just cleared for Spock and Nyota to use. "You can imagine how awful it is to be a kid, locked up in a hospital room during Halloween. Many of our younger patients are room-bound and would normally miss out on trick-or-treating. So we give them each a bag, and volunteers in costume and celebrities make rounds to the kids' rooms. Each drop off a treat or favor for their bags while they visit awhile. By the end of the day, the kids have a bag full of treats and a head full of memories."

"That sounds like fun. What a great idea!"

"It is fun, but before we give anything out, I have to be the mean dietician who codes these baskets." From his desk drawer, Swenson pulled several bags of ribbons cut into shorter 30-centimeter sections. "Not every child can receive every treat, and some can't receive any at all, but at least they get some small toys and other favors." Swenson started tying a yellow ribbon section to a basket handle. "We have different colors for different dietary restrictions. Ah, this is the last of the yellow ribbons."

"How long has this been going on?" Nyota asked, sitting still, trying not to disrupt the baskets at her feet. Next to her Spock attempted to configure his own body to fit in the almost-inadequate space his chair offered among the stacks of baskets and other materials that threatened an avalanche.

"The hospital has been doing this for years, and so have I," Swenson continued, now reaching for a blue ribbon, as a spark of recollection lit his features. "You might be interested in some Grayson family history here. Dr. Grayson got Amanda and Margaret involved in volunteering for this when we were teenagers, and I tagged along. Amanda and Margaret's cousin Janelle joined in about the time Amanda left for Berkeley. Margaret dropped out after she had Norah. But Janelle is still involved. It's not trick-or-treat without a Grayson," he joked.

"We just met Janelle on Saturday," Nyota said.

"Oh? That's great. She's a nice lady. Being a celebrity herself, they put her in charge of celebrity recruitment. And she knows the movers-and-shakers at several candy companies who she arm-twists into giveaway donations as well. She's probably wrangling all the volunteers at the other end of the building right now…. Say, Young Man, would you tie these green ribbons on the baskets of puzzles at your feet? A simple bow would be fine."

Spock, silent in thought as he listened until this moment, took the ribbons. "I shall." Now he needed to figure out how to move without bringing down the baskets of glowsticks behind him that seemed to depend on his chair for stability.

"Great. Miss Uhura, how about these red ones for the chocolates in the baskets next to you? While you're doing that, I'm going to step out and get you some surgical scrubs or lab coats for you to wear. I'll be right back."

Nyota picked up a basket and started tying her ribbon on as instructed. Swenson left them alone, closing the door behind him.

"Spock, maybe you should call Margaret and let her know where we are." She finished tightening her bow and looked over. His eyes were narrowed, focused on the office's far wall; apparently he had returned to his thinking. Nyota had seen that look before many times. "What?"

He turned his head, angling it conspiratorially. "Do you know what it is to 'hide in plain sight'?"

"To hide in plain sight," she repeated, considering. "It means to be seen, then instantly forgotten. To blend in." Inspiration hit, and she believed she understood his train of thought. "What do you have in mind?"

"The Mayo Clinic public relations department will recruit media coverage to promote public awareness and interest in this event, will it not?

"Yes," Nyota replied. "Local media types will show up. You've got celebrities, children, and tradition—everything you need for a heart-warming story. And the publicity is good for the hospital."

"Were they to observe our participation and choose to report on such, our cooperative appearance would provide an indication of our status, thus undercutting the opportunity of discovery and impetus to devote inordinate attention to the matter."

She understood. "You want to 'out' us here, at a trick-or-treat event? Are you sure?"

"The focus on ourselves could be diluted by coverage of the greater event. Would this not be an advantage, an opportunity to control initial dissemination of information?"

"Yes," she nodded, mentally putting the variables into a grid in her head, calculating potential outcomes as she tied another red ribbon onto a basket handle, then set it down to face her companion. "Yes, I agree. They wouldn't be able to say that they caught us in hiding, and I'd feel less like prey. It is probably our best option before they found us anyway. But you know the best thing about it?"

Spock tilted his head, waiting for her revelation.

"The Mayo PR department will break the story, not the paparazzi!" she declared, pleased at that concept. "It might a few days for the gossips to figure out whether we're here on Starfleet's behalf or our own. Maybe by time they figure it out, we'll be gone." She lowered her voice. "You're more manipulative and media-savvy than people would suspect."

"Your tutoring in such matters has been most enlightening, and the tactics I propose are similar to those the captain might implement," he defended.

"Now you're blaming Kirk and me?" she laughed. "Why do I think that this is your very logical way of saying 'Up Yours' to the paparazzi?"

A small spark of amusement lit his eyes. "I cannot disagree with the sentiment, however that was not my intention. One cannot dismiss the percentage of successful outcomes despite the captain's unorthodox methods, therefore some emulation of them is logical."

She rolled her eyes in response. He ignored her expression and continued.

"Before we proceed, first we must assess the wisdom of using this vehicle for this purpose. Second, we do need to ascertain the possibility of our participation."

Nyota considered his concerns. "Well, our being here and helping out could draw attention to the hospital, just like the PR people want. And it's an event that your mother, Margaret, and Janelle have worked on at a hospital where your grandfather was a doctor, so it should surprise no one that you'd carry out a Grayson family tradition."

She paused to consider another point, then continued. "You know, even if we were not trying to beat the media at their own game, this is something that I'd enjoy doing anyway. The more I think about those kids, the more I'd like to help. David Swenson is right; being stuck in a hospital bed on Halloween stinks. I don't care what they'd want us to do. Maybe they'd let us carry baskets for one of their celebrities, or clean up after the event—anything to help out. We didn't have much planned for today anyway, and Margaret isn't going to get to work on your portrait until the paparazzi go away."

"That is a given," Spock concurred, tying the last green ribbon to the final basket of puzzles.

"Even if the press doesn't see us, let's do some good while we're here. It's better than sitting in here hiding out."

Spock did not care for inactivity, either. "Agreed. We will consult Mr. Swenson."

The door opened. "Consult me about what?" Swenson asked, setting down two sets of surgical scrubs.

Spock and Nyota looked at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. Swenson stood patiently.

"It's your family's tradition, Spock," Nyota prodded, setting the stage for his inquiry. "You ask him."

"Indeed," he said. "Mr. Swenson, we wish to offer our assistance in your endeavor today. Are there opportunities for us to do so?"

Swenson's eyebrows rose at the unexpected request. "Well, yes, we can always use a few extra hands, but … but weren't you supposed to stay out of sight? Reporters show up for this event every year. They'll see you."

"Yes, they will."

Swenson looked Spock and Nyota up and down thoughtfully. He could tell by Nyota's resolute expression and Spock's posture that they knew exactly what was about to happen to them, and that they were actively instigating it. Nevertheless, he felt bad for them. "It's a big step," he said sadly. "It was for Amanda. Once they find out, there's no going back."

"We are prepared," Spock stated, unwavering.

Swenson was not surprised. He expected no less. Made out of the same strong stuff as his mother, Swenson believed that Spock would find a way to manage the pitfalls of added celebrity. Was there a tone of resignation in Spock's voice, though? Swenson was not sure what he had heard, if anything. But he had the impression that it had been there.

Nyota sensed Swenson's unease. She rose from her chair and stepped around a basket to touch the older gentleman's arm in a gesture of comfort, again donning one of her brave smiles. "If the whole quadrant has to hear about us, we'd also like people to hear about the good things happening at this hospital." Her big, deep brown eyes projected only sincerity. "If we'd disrupt the event too much, you can turn us down. But if not…we'd like to help."

Swenson looked up to find himself staring into another pair of brown eyes. Spock had managed to navigate his way through the crowded office to her side to stand with her. For a second, those eyes served as conduit to memories of his friend Amanda. As David Swenson had helped her then, he would help his old friend again by assisting her son.

"Maybe we do need a couple more celebrities to make the rounds. Let's see what Janelle has to say."


	25. Smoke & Mirrors

As it was every Halloween, the main conference auditorium at Mayo Clinic D-3 buzzed with approximately 150 volunteers registering at the front table while the hospital's Volunteer Services staff gave them each I.D. badges, a PADD with training materials, and further instructions. Some volunteers proceeded to dressing rooms to change into simple costumes while others were directed to small groups to receive direction on other tasks. It was a well-oiled operation, smooth from years of experience, tradition, and a skilled volunteer base.

In the far corner of the room, the event's celebrity volunteers sat around tables. They represented many areas of Terran society: singers, musicians, athletes, prominent newsvid anchors, actors, and comedians. Janelle Grayson "Devereaux" had worked with many of them before. Many had been touched by the care given to themselves or family members at Mayo, so they were eager to give back in some way, and they did year after year. A few newer faces simply enjoyed using their celebrity to help others. Janelle had met many of them during her promotional tours. Once she told them about the annual Reverse Trick-or-Treat event, rarely did she have to convince these kindred spirits to step up and help out.

At this moment, Amy Grayson weaved her way through the tables, welcoming each person as she offered warm drinks and snacks while Janelle checked off their names on the roster. Her communicator beeped. "Janelle Devereaux here."

"Janelle, it's David."

"Hi. Did you finish coding the baskets? Do you need me to send someone to pick them up?" She was eager to check off another item from her "To Do" list.

"Yes to both, but that's not why I'm calling," Swenson said cheerfully. "I was wondering whether you could use a couple more celebrity volunteers?"

"Well, yes, always," she replied, surprised, "but the event begins in three hours. Who did you get at this late hour?"

"Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura. I believe you know them. They're with me right now."

 _How?_ Janelle had not expected to see these two again so soon. "Spock, Nyota, what are you doing here? Margaret and Allen must have brought you."

"Hi, Janelle," returned Nyota's voice over the communicator's speaker. "No, it's just us. It's a long story, and we'll tell you later. But before I contact Starfleet PR for their go-ahead, we wanted to check with you first. Can you use us?"

"Yes, we most certainly can! One of our people called in sick," said Janelle, relieved and pleased with this turn of fortune, never imagining that Spock, of all people, would consent to this kind of thing. Perhaps Nyota had talked him into it—she had enjoyed the whole Halloween experience at the party two nights ago. "I suppose David told you all about it, am I right?"

"Mr. Swenson has provided a detailed description," said Spock's calm voice. "Nyota and I would prefer to be paired. She is more skilled at this manner of interaction than I am."

"Yes, Spock, I understand," Janelle laughed. "You two are kind of a set anyway."

"Indeed."

"Can you be here in a half-hour for volunteer orientation?"

"We'll try," said Nyota. "We need Starfleet PR to beam us uniforms. We're in workout gear at the moment."

"Workout gear? I can't wait to hear the story. But first, go do what you have to do. I'll send someone over there to get the baskets and bring you here, maybe my Mayo PR contact." Then Janelle had second thoughts. Maybe her introverted cousin preferred to keep things more quiet. "Uh, do you two mind if I let the Mayo PR people know you're coming? Or did you want this to be more low-key?"

In Swenson's office, Nyota and Spock exchanged glances. Yes, their plan might work. "We don't mind press coverage if it helps the hospital," said Nyota, "but ask your PR reps to target only reporters they trust instead of sending out mass press advisories. We'd like to avoid paparazzi."

"No need to explain that one," Janelle replied, a veteran subject of annoying paparazzi herself. "I'll see you in a bit." She closed her communicator, thinking for a couple seconds about this interesting development. As tempted as she was to try to figure out what brought her cousin and his "friend" to volunteer, and wondering why Allen and Margaret were not with them, she had to put that exercise aside for now. She had more pressing matters—first, finding her Mayo PR contact.

**-o0o-**

The comm station beeped again, interrupting her research for the tenth time this morning. Margaret was getting sick of fielding calls from the neighbors, who had been alerted by the noisy crowd on their street. All of them knew that one of Margaret's famous relatives was the subject of the crowd's interest; the question was: Which one? Like the Garvins next door, the whole neighborhood had grown used to the interruption every couple of years or so, and they tolerated it. Having famous visitors in their neighborhood always gave them something interesting to report to their own friends and relatives later on.

The family sequence of tones got Margaret's immediate attention, and she picked up quickly. "Spock, is that you?"

Birkholtz and Allen overheard and walked into the study to join her. Though professional to the core, Birkholtz had to admit his own fascination with the most famous member of Allen and Margaret's family.

"Yes, Margaret," came Spock's voice.

"Are you all right and out of sight?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Spock, Chief Birkholtz is here with us," said Allen. "We told you about him last night."

"Yes. Greetings, Chief Birkholtz," Spock said politely.

"Pleased to speak with you, Commander," Birkholtz said. "I apologize; we don't have a plan for getting you back here yet without creating a greater disturbance. We're still reviewing possibilities. I hope that we can get back to you with something soon."

"There is no longer a need for such," Spock replied. "We have formulated an alternative plan."

Birkholtz raised his brows.

"It must be something 'logical,'" Allen teased. He could not resist.

Margaret swatted his arm and gave him the family "look." Allen held his palms up in defense.

There was a pause. "No, it is not. We will be attiring ourselves 'in costume' and distributing Halloween favors," Spock said drily, then added, "per Margaret's suggestion last night."

"What?!" Margaret and Allen exclaimed. Allen started laughing at Spock's ongoing costume banter with Margaret. Margaret tried swatting his arm again, but he dodged it this time.

Birkholtz folded his arms over his chest in disbelief. Apparently Commander Spock's personality was different from Stiran's and the rest of the Vulcans he had worked with over the years. He looked over to Allen, waiting for an explanation.

Allen tried to stifle his laughter. "It's an inside joke," he informed the confused officer quietly.

Margaret, meanwhile, made the connection. "The Reverse Trick-or-Treat! Of course, that's today! You two are working it? That is rather unexpected, Spock."

"It is Grayson family tradition, is it not?"

Margaret had no idea how he knew that. "Yes, it is," she chuckled. "But there's more to it than that, isn't there? Young Man, what's really going on? And don't tell me that it's nothing because I know better!"

Margaret had the same incisive human intuition that Amanda had. And, like his mother's, her vocal tones indicated that she was not going to let the matter drop, nor would she let Spock use tactics of misdirection until she had answers. So he quietly, and as succinctly as he could, filled her in on how they had met Swenson, discovered the opportunity, then decided to reveal themselves this way. Finally he outlined the reasoning and strategies behind their plan and projected outcomes.

"I'm not a PR whiz, but I think it might work," Birkholtz said, impressed at the young couple's ability to think on their feet. "Even if you achieve a few of your objectives, it may help your situation in some ways, but there may be drawbacks."

"Indeed." Spock was uncomfortable with the breach of privacy that came with relying on Birkholtz's assistance, despite his history with protecting his parents. Days ago he never would tolerated discussion of his and Nyota's relationship. Today it would become the focus of their friends and family, police protection, and media speculation. Swenson had been right—it was a big step. How quickly things had changed! Spock was beginning to realize the difference between intellectual realizations and, he was reluctant to admit, emotional ones. Events had been set in motion, however. The logical course was to remain on-plan.

"Chief, do you have the means to retain media interest in your location? We wish to prevent their interference with our activities at Mayo."

"Well, we could yank their chains with a few diversionary tactics."

"'Yank their chains'? Pardon me, I do not understand that expression," Spock said. Another odd idiom! Why could humans not say what they meant?

Margaret broke in. "He means that we're going to upset them on purpose. They'll be unhappy once they realize that we tricked them into staying here."

"I see." Satisfied, Spock abruptly moved to a new topic. "Margaret, were you able to ascertain what alerted the media to my presence here?"

"Yes, if I have my story straight, someone saw you at the shuttleport when you arrived. At first the speculation was that you were going to Mayo to address a medical issue. Then someone else reported your appearance at Allen's company, so they decided that you were not a patient, but were somewhere in town, and so they started tracking you down. They figured that you were staying with us after some digging into reports of your parents' previous visits here. Now they're out there waiting for one of us to emerge. Good thing that you and Nyota were early risers this morning."

"It was fortunate," Spock replied. "I must leave now. Orientation begins in 11.3 minutes."

"All right. It's illogical, but I'm going to wish you 'good luck' anyway," Margaret teased. "Bye, Spock. We'll talk to you later."

"Acknowledged. Spock out."

Birkholtz, Margaret, and Allen looked at one another, amused. "Let the games begin," said Allen. "What should we do first?"

"Let me go out there for a second. When I get back in, part the living room curtains a few centimeters a couple times, like someone's trying to look out without being discovered."

"OK," said Allen, walking in the living room, fingers positioned along a fold in the curtain. "Ready."

Birkholtz opened the front door and, puffing his chest in his best law enforcement officiousness, peered out over the clicking and whirring cameras and other recording equipment. "There's nothing here. Go home!" he bellowed. No one moved. Birkholtz turned around, walked back in, and closed the door.

Allen parted the curtains slightly, as Birkholtz had asked. As he did, the throng outside grew more restless as each person vied for a better camera angle of the Markham-Graysons' front window. Margaret and Birkholtz peered out from the shutters next to the front door. Margaret smirked, knowing how much fun Allen was going to have the rest of the afternoon.

"Those clowns outside aren't really going to keep falling for this, are they?" Margaret asked in disbelief.

Birkholtz shrugged. "Well, I told them there's nothing here. If they stay, it's their own fault."

Margaret smirked. "What do we do for an encore?"

"Wait a few minutes. Then go up to one of the bedrooms and pull up a shade."

**-o0o-**

Spock and Nyota quickly cleaned up in the locker rooms adjacent to the Mayo employee exercise center, then donned the uniforms that Commander Ming Nguyen from Starfleet PR had delivered personally. Nguyen waited outside the locker rooms for the two to finish.

Being in Starfleet meant being prepared for anything. As prepared as he was for dealing with the natural ebb and flow of events, Nguyen certainly had not expected to be shepherding two of the famous _Enterprise_ bridge crew on Halloween. Why they were at a Halloween event, especially this particular pair, he had no idea.

It was completely out of character for the reclusive Spock. For Nguyen, trying to convince a reserved Vulcan why public appearances were necessary, especially to meet funding and recruitment goals, had been a frustrating exercise over the last few months. The two had butted heads. Methods and threats used to cajole other reluctant subjects simply did not work with Spock. Despite Spock's naïveté in many areas, it was non-existent wherever opportunities arose to cite cultural and situational dispensations that exempted him from appearances. In the rare interviews he did grant, Spock expertly used tactics to minimize answers and cut his interviews short. Nguyen guessed that they were tricks learned from lifetime experience as an ambassador's son. As Spock's "handler," Nguyen found himself sandwiched between the pressure from Command to place Spock in the media spotlight and Spock's stalwart resistance to accede to such directives.

Uhura's presence here had been a mystery when Nguyen arrived, but not so much anymore. Like many, Nguyen had heard—and dismissed—the rumors about a romantic attachment between the tight-assed commander and the communications prodigy. There was little evidence that gave credence to the rumors, and that was circumstantial at best. Until now. The pair's silent interactions as they collected their uniforms before going into the locker rooms indicated that there might be some truth behind the tall tales he had heard around the office.

Whatever the case, it was going to be an interesting day.

A group a people approached, two of them pulling carts. Nguyen guessed that they had come to collect the baskets of treats and favors. A diminutive olive-skinned woman with short, dark hair streaked with auburn highlights separated from the group and stepped up to him.

"Commander Nguyen? Hello, I'm Ellen Karras, manager of public relations," she said brightly, reaching out to shake hands. "A pleasure to meet you. And thank you for allowing Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura to join us today!"

"Starfleet is pleased to help," Nguyen returned, shaking her hand and smiling. "But their participation was their idea. I'm not entirely sure how it came about."

"Well, we are fortunate and very happy that it did," Karras continued enthusiastically. "Are there any requirements that we need to know? Or anything we should avoid?"

Nguyen had almost memorized this speech. "As you know, Vulcans are touch-telepaths, so anyone dealing with Commander Spock should avoid touching him. As for forbidden topics, personal questions are off limits. Don't ask him about how he 'feels' about anything because, as a Vulcan, he does not answer emotion-based questions. I'm sure that I do not have to warn against bringing up anything having to do with the Battle of Vulcan if you can help it. However, the commander is less reluctant about talking about the Battle of Terra if you must, but, truthfully, he really would rather not discuss any of it. The safest topics with him are general discussions of general Vulcan culture, the sciences, or linguistics. Best to be business-like."

"Understandable," Karras acknowledged. "Anything we need to know about the lieutenant?"

"I believe you will find her easy to work with. Kids seem to love her, so she'll fit into this event just fine. She's open to questions about her professional life, but tends to avoid personal questions. Don't worry, she doesn't get offended easily. She'll redirect conversation away from restricted or uncomfortable subjects, if necessary."

The men's locker room door opened, and Spock emerged, looking every centimeter the Starfleet officer. Whatever Nguyen thought of him otherwise, he had to admit that Spock had charisma, an aristocratic presence that had a profound effect on most humans who met him for the first time. Karras was no exception—she appeared to have forgotten how to breathe.

"Ms. Karras, I presume?" Spock said smoothly, doing his best to emulate his father's diplomatic demeanor.

Karras recovered quickly. "Yes, Commander Spock. Thank you for coming today."

"We are honored to serve," Spock replied pleasantly with a slight nod.

Now Nguyen was thoroughly confused. What had happened to the non-responsive, stubborn mule that usually occupied this body? Something definitely was going on.

"So, Commander, I understand that David Swenson told you about our event?" Karras began, snapping back into professional mode, stylus in hand. "If I may ask, how do you know him?"

"He was a friend of my mother's since her youth. I met him recently."

"How interesting!" Karras exclaimed.

Yes, how interesting, Nguyen thought. Normally he could not get more than two words out of the commander. Karras had already managed to get several sentences.

Karras quickly jotted down a few notes on her PADD before continuing. "So he's your tie to the event?"

"Not exclusively," Spock said. "My mother and aunt volunteered for this event with Mr. Swenson in years past. My cousin Janelle continues to do so." There. He planted some of the family information that he and Nyota had discussed, all part of the "smoke and mirrors," as Nyota called it. Spock noted that he was learning several idioms today.

"Janelle Devereaux's your cousin? Amazing! So, your Terran family is from this area, then?"

"Yes, my grandfather, Dr. Howard Grayson, was a Mayo orthopedic surgeon."

"Wow!" Karras was beginning to run out of exclamatory phrases. "So this really is a family project for you, isn't it?"

"After a fashion."

Happier than a kid in a candy store, Karras continued taking notes. What a story! His appearance was newsworthy in itself. His unexpected family ties offered even more intriguing angles. She would have no difficulty generating media interest in this year's event.

"We are running behind," she said suddenly, checking her chronometer. "Do you think the lieutenant will be much longer? Maybe I should go in there and see how she's doing."

"I do not recommend it," said Spock lightly. "It is best not to disturb the lieutenant when she is under deadline."

Karras smiled. "A whirling dervish?"

Spock nodded. "If I understand the reference correctly, that is an apt description."

Karras laughed. "Ah, I'll stay out of the way."

"That is wise."

Now Nguyen's consternation level was through the roof. The commander was turning on the charm, what little of it there was in a Vulcan. "Mr. Personality" had arrived, suddenly opening up about the Terran heritage that he, until now, had refused to discuss with anyone. Yes, and yes, something was definitely up.

Nyota appeared, her hair pulled back neatly, every inch the efficient officer except for the small smile she gave Commander Spock before acknowledging Nguyen politely with a "Sir."

"Lieutenant," Nguyen replied, carefully noting her and the commander's brief interaction. Now was not the time to get into it, however. They had somewhere to be. "Now that everyone's ready, Ms. Karras, if you'd lead us to orientation…."


	26. Taking The Reins

The group quickly made its way through the hallways toward the clinic auditorium for volunteer orientation. Nguyen reflected on Commander Spock and Lieutenant Uhura's interactions with the clinic's PR representative, Ellen Karras, and between each another. What he saw set off klaxons in his mind, and he decided that it was time to take charge.

Commander Spock normally was not inclined to share more personal details than necessary, and Nguyen's attempt to pry even necessary details out of him had been a trial since Starfleet assigned the commander, along with Kirk, Scott, and McCoy, as his responsibility. News of the commander's sudden interest in a public appearance had intrigued Nguyen, even more so with the _Enterprise's_ young communications officer by his side. Instead of assigning this seemingly mundane task to a department assistant, he had opted to deliver the uniforms they requested himself and remain present throughout the event.

Normally he would not have let the commander talk to Karras or any other outside communications professional before he could assess the situation and set guidelines beforehand, but that would have been futile in this case. Despite his surprise, his tactical instincts took over. He stepped back and purposefully let "Mr. Personality" provide uncensored information to Karras—but only up to a point. Fortunately time constraints had ended the interview before Nguyen would have had to terminate it. He believed that he knew enough about the circumstances to take control.

Age and wisdom were not the only things that put a few strands of gray at his temples. Nguyen had fought several skirmishes on the battlegrounds of political influence and public opinion. Experience told him he would be required to do so again and that he had to wrangle cooperation from the usually reserved Vulcan who, for some reason, had chosen to go maverick on him today.

"Commander," Nguyen said quietly as the group approached the auditorium, "a word please."

He signaled Spock to trail behind with him, hanging behind the group by several meters. Spock joined him wordlessly.

"Before you or the lieutenant provides Ms. Karras or anyone else with any more information, I need to brief you." Nguyen stood his ground as he stared up at impenetrable Vulcan eyes, refusing to be intimidated by Spock's height. "Not one more word. Understand?"

Nguyen did not outrank Spock, but his authority in this area was clear, and Spock knew it. Disputing this order would have been insubordination and illogical. Spock acknowledged Nguyen with a curt nod before the two caught up with the rest of the group.

Uhura's concerned glance backward at them reinforced the picture forming in Nguyen's mind. He continued to integrate these behavioral clues along with the pair's background information and the rumors he had previously dismissed. Yes, he absolutely had to take control and frame this appearance before things got out of hand. Talking points and guidelines were the first order, and Starfleet PR had a basic list of "do's and don'ts" that Nguyen and others in his department customized as needed.

"Ms. Karras, excuse me," he said, approaching her. "Is there a small room or office nearby that the commander, lieutenant, and I can use after orientation? Before the event begins, I need to brief them." He leaned over to her. "Starfleet business," he added more quietly, leaving the implications open to interpretation.

Starfleet, though not entirely a military organization, used military protocols, so the request did not surprise Karras. Maybe there were classified updates, though she suspected that Nguyen's real motivation was to provide his clients with standard last-minute advice. "I am sure I can find something for you, Commander Nguyen."

That done, Nguyen smiled. "Thank you."

The group entered the auditorium. At front at a podium, Janelle, dressed in an orange knee-length skirt, knee-high black boots, and a black sweater with embroidered orange jack o'lanterns along the cuffs and hem, waved to the crowd to get its attention.

"May I have everyone's attention, please," Janelle spoke into the PA system. Amy Grayson and David Swenson stood off to one side. Marco, Janelle's principal camera operator, recorded the entire scene, which later would be edited into a show segment on the _Janelle Devereaux Lifestyles_ holovid program. "Now, we're waiting on a couple more," Janelle continued, "but we need to get started. So, I'd like to begin by saying…oh, here they are!"

Ellen Karras entered first, followed by Nyota, then Spock with Nguyen at the end. Swenson and Amy waved to them. Nyota waved back while Spock bowed his head slightly. Excited murmuring erupted among the crowd, punctuated by a few _Omigods_.

As Karras found her small group empty places and orientation materials, then settled them in quickly, Nguyen looked around, continuing his assessment. Impressed, he noted that many of the celebrity volunteers were A-listers. Azure Angel, the lead singer from the wildly popular techno-synth band Wild Blister, openly stared. Sitting next to her was Mecaed McNabb, a well-known Celtic harpist, who also could not keep her eyes off the new arrivals. Anchor Rik van der Kamp from the planet-wide _Terra Today_ news program, baseball Hall of Famer Winton Marquez, and tennis champion Suzan Teelen all straightened. Even Hollywood stars Marianna Milanese, Nara Rin, Pak Sung Cho, and Lukas Msembe, usually at the top of the celebrity food chain themselves, were, like the rest of the notables throughout the room, awestruck by the new arrivals.

Reactions from celebrities who Nguyen himself admired prevented him from taking the status of his _Enterprise_ charges for granted. They served to remind him of how great his challenge was in guiding them through this situation—if they would only let him. His duty to Starfleet required that he ensure that they did.

Karras led them to empty places at a table with PADDS at each place, quickly seated them, then left to locate a meeting space for later.

"OK, OK," Janelle's voice broke over the din, prompting everyone to quiet down. "Now that we're all here, let me welcome you and thank you for your generosity today. Many of us who have had family in the hospital or have been patients ourselves know how unsettling that experience can be. And when you're faced with a life-threatening condition, it can be overwhelming day-in and day-out.

"Our event today tries to break that cycle, offers our patients a pleasant diversion, a mental respite from their worries. Even if it's for a short time, we give them a warm memory, a boost that will help sustain them through their next treatment or whatever they are facing as they deal with their illnesses. So, let's make some memories! We'll start on that path by going to our PADDs, scroll to Screen 3…"

Janelle reviewed the event, stepping through the details via PADD and on the giant screen behind her. She outlined how celebrities would be paired with volunteers dressed in whimsical animal costumes, then go from room to room and interact with room-bound patients. She cautioned that some children would be more receptive to visits than others.

"Our volunteers are good judges of their needs and will guide you," she promised. "Be friendly, go with the flow. It's supposed to be fun for the kids. Some of the younger ones will be interested in only the costumed volunteers. The older ones will probably be more interested in the celebrities. It depends on the kids."

Amy handed out assignments pairing volunteers and celebrities before Janelle dismissed everyone for a break. Nyota and Spock were pleased that Janelle had assigned David Swenson to them.

Janelle pointed toward the back of the room. "There is a lunch buffet set up in the back. Be sure to get something to eat, get to know each other, and don't hesitate to ask questions if you're new. Most of us have worked this before and are happy to answer your questions. The event starts in about an hour."

As soon as Janelle had finished her speech, Karras returned, collected Nguyen and his charges, and guided them to a small meeting room a couple doors down from the auditorium's main entrance.

Nyota noticed Nguyen's firm demeanor and guessed that he was going to demand more information from them. Then she looked at Spock, now in full Vulcan mode. Uh-oh…this was not good. She expected nothing less than a battle of wills.


	27. Taking Care Of Our Own

Nguyen waited for the door to close, engaged the privacy lock, and got down to business. "I'll ask this straight-up: Why are you here today, Commander?"

Humans were seldom this direct, and Nguyen displayed a new aggressiveness that made Spock more wary of him than usual. Like Nguyen, Spock kept his tone businesslike as he stated the obvious. "We are volunteering at a charitable function."

"Because?" Nguyen dug.

"Our appearance in support of an honorable endeavor satisfies Starfleet public relations objectives," Spock recited.

"Yes, it does. But there is more behind this particular appearance." Nguyen, standing squarely in front, met Spock's gaze and held it. Despite his smaller frame, he could display an intimidating toughness in facing down opponents or uncooperative subjects. "Look, Commander, I've been doing this too long for me not to pick up the clues. There are ulterior motives in play. Because you serve in Starfleet and wear its uniform, I have the authority to disallow your participation in this until I have the real story."

The two younger officers in question remained carefully calm. Nguyen sensed their active minds going into overdrive.

"I am not stupid. And neither is the press," he continued. "If I can see that there is something deeper here—and can _take a good guess_ as to what that is—they will, too." He paused to let his words sink in.

Neither Spock nor Nyota moved.

Nguyen carefully eyed them, looking for any reaction. "Here's what my gut is telling me: Your big secret, for whatever reason, is about to be revealed. So now you are going on the offensive, trying to create a distraction. Otherwise, _logically_ , why else would you, Commander Spock, want to call attention to yourself at a _Halloween_ event? You have fervently resisted attention to yourself up to this point, yet suddenly, today, you are eager to talk. And you, Lieutenant Uhura, why are you spending your leave time here with Commander Spock and not with your family in Kenya?"

The Vulcan's eyes hardened as he threw up an even thicker wall. A flicker of discomfort crossed the young woman's features before she corrected herself, continuing to stare intently at a point on the wall behind Nguyen's head. Their stubbornness signaled to Nguyen that his assessment of the situation and line of questioning were spot-on.

Nguyen looked them over again, searching their faces and bodies for more clues. What were they thinking? Being the son of famous parents, Spock, especially, should have known better. The press obsessed on romances, and if that was what was happening here—Nguyen was positive that it was—keeping any gossip fodder whatsoever under wraps was imperative. Once speculation started, it would not quit, and the result would be an incessant accounting of and commentary about every move Spock or Uhura made.

 _A ranking Starfleet officer should have more sense_ , Nguyen thought, taking a couple steps from Spock to stand in front of Uhura as the frustration of dealing with this tightened his shoulders and constricted his chest.

Uhura's eyes closed, her lips thinned, and, though she remained perfectly still, she now looked like she was trying to keep herself from punching the wall. Spock's eyes, on the verge of a glare, followed Nguyen's movements.

Nguyen had seen this quiet defiance in younger officers many times. It was typically the passion of _youth_ …

Youth?…

Yes, of course. Maybe Nguyen had been looking at these officers and their situation the wrong way. As understanding dawned, his thoughts took a new, more sympathetic direction.

Their significant accomplishments, feats of heroism, and, to some extent, trauma suffered at their encounter with Nero had eclipsed Spock and Uhura's youth, making them seem older, far beyond their years on multiple levels. Everyone expected so much from them. Could it be that they, Nguyen included, expected too much, even from the Vulcan? In other circumstances, Spock and Uhura could have easily been college students or young professionals like others their age, free of the myriad responsibilities that they had thrust on them regularly, free to make the mistakes or take the missteps of youth that would season them into adulthood. Right now it seemed that they needed a guide more than a military disciplinarian.

Nguyen looked more closely. He sensed some fatigue in them and worried that they might be near some kind of breaking point. Perhaps he needed to cut them some slack in the "What the Hell were you thinking?" department. They were not stupid, just inexperienced in navigating the media of pop culture. Easing off slightly, he toned down the harsher commander's voice he had been using and relaxed his posture. He indicated a couple chairs next to the small table.

"Here, sit down," he said more quietly as he took a seat. "Please…"

Silently, they did. At first Spock looked like he might resist. After a moment's consideration, however, he took his place next to Uhura across the small, round table from Nguyen.

"Look, your personal lives should be no one else's business," he said sympathetically. "But you are two heroes, two celebrities. And Commander Spock is the Vulcan equivalent of royalty. The public is going to take interest in anything you do, even more so if there is more behind your story.

"Because legislative support and funding for Starfleet's objectives depends on our standing with the public, we have to care what the public thinks. If I were to just let you two remain on this course, trust me, this situation would blow up into a major media distraction." Nguyen paused, then took a breath. "We can't afford distractions, especially right now. You do realize what's at stake? Answer me, please."

"Yes, Sir," Nyota replied quietly, still staring ahead.

Spock took a deep breath, remaining impassive otherwise. "Yes."

Nguyen paused a moment to let the younger people consider his points. He looked from one to the other. Spock retained his intensity, though Nguyen's impression was that the walls of Vulcan reserve were not as fortified as before. Uhura had stopped holding her breath. Maybe he was making some progress.

"Good. All right. Commander, Lieutenant, let's start over," Nguyen began, attempting to establish a working foundation. "I am not your enemy. We all wear the uniform and are bound by our loyalty to Starfleet. Ideally that loyalty extends to each other. You've got my back, and I've got yours. You need to trust me, to be completely honest with me, or else I can't do my job, which is to protect Starfleet's interests and, to the best of my ability, yours. I think that you'll find them compatible in most cases. Work with me; I promise to help you in any way I can without violating more personal boundaries than I need to violate. But I need to know how we all got here today, or the show's off. Am I clear?"

Nyota and Spock looked at each other. Their previous confidence in their plan now diminished, each realized that they might need Nguyen's help. Nyota remained concerned about how far Spock was willing to go.

She was correct about Spock's reluctance. Trusting anyone outside a strict military environment, where rules and regulations took the uncertainty of interaction and expectations, was difficult. Though Spock understood that Nguyen had his orders and PR objectives, it did not make it easier when Nguyen insisted that he, even within the parameters of typical Vulcan mores, speak to media representatives about his experiences as a Vulcan citizen and Starfleet officer. Usually paired with Kirk during interviews, Spock had avoided this by letting—even encouraging—Kirk to do most of the talking. Nguyen and Spock had had many conflicts about this, and a quiet enmity between the two had developed.

However, Spock thought, was there a better option? Currently the paparazzi surrounded his aunt and uncle's home. Slipping away via transporter would only put off the inevitable discovery of his movements and, as a side effect, Nyota's. They were tired of hiding, but if Nguyen thought that there was a potential for grave repercussions of revealing their relationship, then Spock had to put aside his weariness and reconsider for the good of Starfleet's objectives. Nguyen had been an annoyance, but Spock never thought him incompetent. On their press tour, Kirk had often remarked that the man knew his job.

He really needed to meditate. Getting to know his mother's family over that last five days, though pleasant, had also been taxing as he had opened himself up to a greater degree than he had since childhood. Now the prospect of having the details of his personal life further encroached upon by society at large was almost too much. Nguyen's assistance was logical, but it was another breach of his privacy.

Nyota saw that Spock was having an internal struggle, one that he could not resolve with Nguyen in the room. "Sir?" she addressed Nguyen. "May we have a moment?"

The woman's tone suggested cooperation. Nguyen believed allowing her a few private words might secure the reluctant commander's acquiescence. "Yes, Lieutenant," he said, walking to the door, "but don't take too long."

Nguyen did not reach the door before they heard a knocking. Being just steps away, Nguyen answered it.

"Spock, Nyota! There you are! Ellen said that you might still be here," Janelle said brightly, brushing by Nguyen as she swept herself into the room, closing the door behind her. "Commander Nguyen, sorry to interrupt, but I have a whole roomful of people eager to meet Spock and Nyota. I was hoping that I could steal them from you shortly."

Temporarily shocked at hearing his charges called by their given names, he remembered the familial relationship that Spock had revealed to Karras. Lifestyle diva Janelle Devereaux was Spock's cousin.

"We were in the middle of a briefing," Nguyen said, trying to return her cheerful tone through his annoyance at the interruption. "I apologize for grabbing them. I hope you understand."

Janelle looked at the three Starfleet officers before her. They were not fooling the Grayson intuition. Clearly there had been some kind of intense discussion and impasse because Nguyen, despite his practiced friendliness, looked a bit tense. Nyota seemed tired, and even Spock appeared worn out—his mother's "spark" was not there. She walked to where Spock and Nyota sat and pulled up a chair to sit beside them. "You look troubled."

Maybe it was a Grayson family trait, or maybe it was coincidence. Either way, Janelle had Amanda and Margaret's empathic warmth. It called to Nyota who, after her crazy morning, needed a comforting shoulder to lean on, even if it was only figuratively.

"We _are_ in trouble," Nyota said tiredly, echoing Janelle's word choices.

Janelle's eyebrows shot up. _In trouble?_ Nyota's exhausted appearance left open a particular interpretation of that phrase.

It took Nyota a couple seconds to realize what she had said and how Janelle had interpreted it. She gasped, her skin flushing a deeper brown. "No, it's not _that_! Omigod!"

Spock, confused at Nyota's embarrassment, knew better than to ask about it for the moment. Nguyen briefly wondered what angry PR god he had pissed off. And what, exactly, was Janelle Devereaux doing here?

With some of the tension broken, Janelle chuckled softly, ignoring the consternation that was beginning to cross Nguyen's features. "You said earlier that it was 'a long story.' Were you telling it to Commander Nguyen when I came in?"

"No, we were not," said Spock.

"No? Perhaps now is the time to tell it?"

Nguyen shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. "Ms. Devereaux, if you would—"

"—Maybe Commander Nguyen and I can help," she interrupted, shooting Nguyen a glare insisting on his silence. "I know this isn't easy, relying on others," Janelle soothed as she returned her attention to the younger pair. "I understand. I don't always care for having some parts of my life managed by my PR people, and on many levels it's difficult to let go of that control over what I can say or what I should do. Some days I just want to scream. Amanda often told me the same thing."

The hesitance Spock and Nyota showed was the same sort that Amanda and Sarek had displayed when they realized that they needed outside help in managing information and press coverage through guidelines and protocols. An interspecies relationship such as theirs was too tempting for the media to ignore, and one that involved a public figure of Sarek's stature even more so. As bad as the media intrusion was, everyone knew that it would have been worse without the efforts and advice of embassy communications staff and cooperative family members.

"Take my advice," Janelle urged. "You can't do this alone, nor do you want to do so. You already have busy lives and difficult jobs. Trying to become an expert in media matters is a full-time job in itself, and it takes years to become good at it. So let us help. I promise you that Commander Nguyen is a professional communicator who is going take very good care of you…."

Janelle eyed Nguyen with a _don't-make-a-liar-out-of-me_ look. "…Aren't you, Commander?"

Nguyen nodded. "Yes, of course I will." Though annoyed at her implied threat, he had to admire how she took charge. Too, it helped that she was on his side.

"…And you have the family behind you," she stated, returning her attention to her cousin. "We stood by your parents, Spock, and we will stand by you and Nyota. The Graysons take care of their own."

Allen had said this earlier. Janelle reinforced it: The Graysons take care of their own. _Their own_. Suddenly a rush of memories flashed through his mind: The conversations and meals at Margaret and Allen's. Allen's eagerness to have him tour his workplace. Margaret's care with his portrait. The party at Janelle's and the pumpkins that became t'katra yonet. His cousins' stories of snowballs and broken bed frames. All of Nyota's reassurances. He had been too afraid of rejection to let the meaning behind it all sink in, but it finally did.

Somewhere in that phrase, Spock realized that _their own_ included him, as if it always had and always would. He would never be alone. Whatever happened to him and Nyota in their professional lives, within the realm of public opinion, or under the authority of Starfleet Command, Spock had a haven, a place to be, a family that claimed him openly. His mother's family. _His_ family.

He also realized that Janelle had the resources and influence to follow through on her intentions. There was comfort in that as well.

Suddenly Nyota felt a jolt of joy ripple through her, a lightness permeate her heart. She looked up, stunned. Surely that could not have come from Spock. They were not touching, but she had felt it almost as much as if they had melded. Sure enough, even through his neutral expression, his features had softened minutely. He had resolved something—that much she knew.

Janelle also caught the change of mood. "Ah, that's better…," she smiled.

"Thank you, Janelle," Spock said.

"Anytime."

Spock looked to Nyota; she looked at him. A new understanding and agreement passed between them. If they did not talk now, Nguyen was right—their situation would blow up.

Spock indicated the last empty chair in the room. "Commander," he addressed Nguyen. "Your expertise is welcomed."

 _Finally_ , Nguyen thought, moving back toward the table and into the chair. He quickly censured his thoughts of frustration and channeled his energy into advocacy. He was ready to get to work.

"What must you know?" Spock asked calmly.

Spock's manner, though not haughty, had become aristocratic. Nguyen had seen Ambassador Sarek adopt the same bearing during tense debates when opponents came close to crossing the ambassador's patience. Obviously Spock still had some reservations about this course of action. Nguyen resolved not to cross more of Spock's boundaries than he absolutely had to cross.

Nguyen set his PADD on the table to begin his notes. "Lieutenant, perhaps we should start with you," he offered, wanting to relieve Spock of some scrutiny to ease tensions. "Tell me, from the beginning, how did you come to spend you shoreleave here with the commander, and what are your reasons for volunteering for this event today?"

Nyota thought carefully. How could she explain the complex journey that brought her here adequately, and how much should she divulge? "Sir, Commander Spock and I are _very good friends_ ," she said.

 _Very good friends_. _That's one way of putting it,_ Nguyen thought. Vulcan eyes met his almost defiantly, daring him to make a comment. Abstaining from any remarks was a better idea. Instead he nodded in understanding, prompting the lieutenant to continue.

"His aunt, Margaret Grayson, invited him here to get to know his mother's family better. I went along for moral support," Nyota continued. "We have been here since last Wednesday."

"What have you been doing during this time?" Nguyen asked.

"Mostly sitting around and talking," Nyota answered. "We went to a Halloween party at Janelle's on Saturday." She and Janelle exchanged smiles. "The commander went with his Uncle Allen to tour his workplace last Friday. Other than that, and a couple runs down the local walking path, we have spent most of our time at their house."

"But this morning, you somehow met David Swenson and volunteered for this event. Tell me about that, Commander."

"We went running to maintain physical conditioning," said Spock. "During the course of our outing, Margaret called to inform us that paparazzi had arrived and staked out positions outside the home and that the local law authorities had arrived. We were advised to conceal ourselves until they could devise a means for our secure return to the premises."

 _Oh, great,_ Nguyen thought. Paparazzi? Law enforcement? Not only were the PR gods angry, they intended to send him to PR Hell. In his most professional tone, he plodded on quietly. "That sounded like the wise thing to do, but instead you ended up volunteering for this event. How did that happen?"

Nyota took up the next segment. "We were not far from the clinic. Commander Spock had run the path earlier in the week and knew we were close to one of the clinics. We decided to find a waiting room and wait there until Margaret called us back with instructions. So we ran down the trail until we got to the clinic. Before we went inside, we stopped at a garden on the grounds to take a look."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because it is dedicated to Commander Spock's mother, and he wanted to show it to me."

There was more to the stoic commander than he let on, Nguyen noted. The commander really did have deep family roots here.

"Then David Swenson saw us and came over to talk," Nyota added. "The commander had met him on a run earlier in the week."

Some of the story was beginning to come together for Nguyen. "Your mother's friend, right, Commander?"

"Yes."

"He asked us why we were there," Nyota continued, "and we told him about the paparazzi at Margaret and Allen's. He offered us to let us wait in his office. When we got there, he had all the trick-or-treat baskets piled everywhere. We asked him about them, and he told us about the Reverse Trick-or-Treat."

"And you volunteered. Why?" Now maybe Nguyen would get some answers.

Spock and Nyota both went silent for a moment. How should they explain this? Nguyen waited.

"We figured that the paparazzi were going to 'out' us, no matter how we got back to Margaret and Allen's house," Nyota sighed. "We decided that if people were going to find out about us anyway, we would reveal ourselves engaged in a charitable event to the mainstream media instead of giving that exclusive to the paparazzi. We would rather lend our fame to generate interest for the hospital instead of earning credits for the paparazzi. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

"You could have called Starfleet and requested a beam-out," said Nguyen. "That would have avoided this."

"No." Spock was adamant. "It would, perhaps, have delayed discovery, but not have avoided it. After the media's initial interest, continued concealment would have required excessive attention and implementation of resources. The probability of success was 3.8 percent."

"We just wanted to get it over with," said Nyota. "We're not breaking any rules, and we're tired of hiding."

"I can sympathize. But didn't you think that revealing yourselves would make it worse for you?"

"My family has been the object of media interest always," said Spock. "My parents managed, and we opted to follow their example."

"Unfortunately, Commander, you have not followed their example entirely," Nguyen cautioned. "It will be worse for you unless we can contain and control some of the information that you just threw out there. As Ms. Devereaux just told you, they put themselves in the care of embassy staff communications professionals and implemented diplomatic protocols that offered measures of protection. It's a case study that PR professionals have reviewed and emulated for years. Don't get me wrong—I believe that you and the lieutenant are very capable, very intelligent people. But you are not experienced in public relations. Unless we sew up the loose ends of this situation, this whole thing is going to unravel."

"This isn't turning out the way we thought," Nyota admitted. "We messed up. What do we do now?"

"We'll start by setting ground rules. If anyone asks, you acknowledge your professional connection only. You never discuss personal relationships. Not even a hint, or else they'll be all over you. Understand?"

Spock and Nyota nodded. Nguyen was pleased with their cooperation. Things were looking up. Perhaps he could make this easier for them, after all.

"Next, we make your joint appearances commonplace so that people expect to see you together."

"How are you going to do that?" Nyota asked.

Nguyen, for the first time since they came in the room, smiled genuinely. "Well, we have been sending Commander Spock out with Captain Kirk on interviews. But I am starting to believe that, in an interview situation, the two of you may be more compatible. Kirk is a talker, and he needs to be paired with another talker, otherwise he tends to dominate the interview. In the interest of balance, I think we'll pair him with Montgomery Scott from now on.

"As for you, I will inform the media that Starfleet is pairing the two of you for this and future appearances because of your prior experience working together at the Academy and the lieutenant's expertise in Vulcan language and customs, as we believe that it will encourage more conversation from you, Commander. But for this to work, it means that you have to say more than two words during your interviews. Can you handle that?"

Spock had not minded being paired with the captain, as they were building their own friendship. It was true; Spock preferred to let Kirk do the majority of talking, as his nature was to listen more than speak. However, if Nguyen was willing to pair him with Nyota for future appearances, though he remained reluctant, he was willing to speak more than he had to this point.

"I will endeavor to do so," Spock answered.

Nguyen was making headway, gratified that the stubborn commander was being reasonable. Maybe this would get Command off his back. Maybe the PR gods were not so mean after all. "Good. Next, we have to tie up potential information leaks, specifically anyone who might discuss the personal relationship between the commander and lieutenant. Ms. Devereaux, who else attended your party on Saturday?"

"Say no more," said Janelle. "There will be no information leaks. Let me assure you; anyone who attends one of my parties understands 'The Rules.'"

"'The Rules'?"

"Yes, the first rule being, 'What happens at my parties, stays at my parties.' Anyone who's worried about his or her own ability to keep his or her mouth shut simply does not accept my invitation. It's a matter of trust, and I don't deal with people I don't trust. Ever. And they know it."

Nguyen believed that media powerhouse Janelle Devereaux could make her rules stick. He could only imagine the professional consequences for anyone who violated her trust.

"Besides, everyone, especially celebrities and executives, appreciate the chance to simply have fun without worrying about the world hearing about it," Janelle pointed out.

"The family members who attended…what about them?" he asked.

"No one knows 'The Rules' better than the Grayson Family. We've followed them since the Vulcan Embassy issued them just before the news broke about Sarek and Amanda. It's been so long that we hardly have to think about them anymore. We just follow them by default."

"Margaret told us about the guidelines," said Nyota. "I had no idea that the whole family followed them."

"Uncle Howard ordered everyone to obey them—friends, family, co-workers, anyone who knew Amanda. If you knew what was good for you, you didn't cross Uncle Howard. He could be a real S.O.B., but we knew it was all an act was to cover up his big, soft heart. He was only trying to protect Amanda. We Graysons became such experts at deflecting the media that they pretty much gave up on us after a few years," Janelle laughed. "People used to joke about our 'Code of Silence.' We guard our privacy with a passion." She leveled another look of warning at Nguyen. "I only tell you this on a need-to-know basis."

If he had any doubts about the discretion Janelle claimed for her party guests, they went away. Based on his own research into Spock's background, he had to admit that very little information about the Grayson family's private activities was available, which indicated that the family's Code of Silence was sound. "Have these rules changed since the Vulcan embassy first issued them? I may want to adopt them for the commander and lieutenant as well."

Janelle nodded sympathetically at the two young people in the room. "There have been a few minor changes through the years. I'll have Amy send you a copy and ask her to put the rest of the family on alert." She looked down at her PADD's chronometer. "I should get back. Is there anything else you need, Commander Nguyen? As I said earlier, everyone out there wants to meet Spock and Nyota. Will you be much longer?"

"We'll try to wrap this up in the next couple minutes," Nguyen smiled back. "Thank you very much, Ms. Devereaux. It has been a pleasure," he said, meaning it. In just a few minutes, Janelle Devereaux's assistance had secured Commander Spock's cooperation. His life just got easier.

Janelle smiled—she and Nguyen had an understanding—then turned and looked at Spock and Nyota. "Don't worry, things will work out. You'll see," she encouraged. "Amanda would be proud of both of you! See you in a bit!"

Putting on her best celebrity smile before she emerged from the room into the hallway, she took her leave. Each for their own reasons, the Starfleet officers left behind all were grateful for her help. It was a positive restart as they reviewed a few more ground rules as each understood the other and what they needed to do during the next few hours.


	28. Trick Or Treat

"Ready?"

"Yes, Commander," Spock replied to Nguyen, who had placed his hand over the door sensor.

"Lieutenant?"

Nyota nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Pleased to have the situation under some kind of control, Nguyen activated the door, taking the lead as it swooshed open. He had a new action plan, cooperation from his charges, and a set of rules to keep everyone focused toward the same results. The reluctant Vulcan appeared to be relaxing some of his reserve. Maybe "Mr. Personality" would make a return appearance.

Not surprisingly, Janelle and Ellen Karras intercepted them immediately, ushering the group to the auditorium where bright camera-friendly lighting and the crowd of volunteers and Terran celebrities waited. Camera operator Marco had positioned himself for the best vantage point, recording the buzz and excitement of pre-event staging and anticipation. Right behind him, Amy Grayson directed traffic, opening a pathway through the crowd. With the practiced hand learned at her mother's side throughout life, she easily collected her cousin and his "friend," guiding them and the rest of their group to a backdrop with the Mayo Clinic logo on it.

"Hey there, Cousin," she said lightheartedly, keeping her voice down enough for privacy under the crowd's din as she walked them to their places. "Are you and Nyota ready for your first trick-or-treat?"

"Our state of readiness is irrelevant at this point," Spock replied in the same spirit (for him, anyway). "However, I expect that our immersion into the practice will prove fascinating."

"I am sure that it will be," Amy agreed. "I hate to ask, but do you mind posing for pictures with our other volunteers? I know that it's not something that you typically do, but it would really be a thrill for them."

Personally, Spock did not grasp why it would "be a thrill" to be photographed with him. Nevertheless, he had promised Nguyen greater accessibility. Before he agreed to photos, however, he needed to take care of something else.

"I am amenable. However, Nyota has not eaten today."

Nyota, listening in, smiled. He had probably sensed her hunger and was taking care of her needs again. "Neither have you," she returned.

"Oh, that's right!" Amy exclaimed. "Margaret said that you left before breakfast."

Spock tilted his head slightly. "You spoke with Margaret?"

"No, my mother did, right after orientation."

Spock and Nyota exchanged glances. So that explained it. They had wondered why Janelle had so insistently burst into the conference room earlier and how she seemed to know about their dilemma before talking to them. The "Grayson Grapevine" was fast, indeed. His family shared and acted on information to look after his and Nyota's well-being. Thinking about the meanings and implications of these actions brought Spock a greater comfort and contentment.

"Let me get you something easy to eat, like a couple mini muffins or strawberries for now," Amy suggested. "After the photos, I'll make sure that you get a real meal before we begin. Would that work?"

Spock looked at Nyota, who now looked relieved even as a pang of hunger throbbed in her stomach. "Thanks, that would be great," she said.

"OK, stand off to the side here, and I'll be right back." Amy walked to Karras and Nguyen, who was engaged in giving directions to someone over his communicator, to explain what she had to do, then quickly made her way to the buffet table to load a small plate and the couple forks that Vulcan eating etiquette demanded. She remembered that Cousin Amanda's husband, the venerable Ambassador Sarek, never ate "finger foods" with his fingers.

**-o0o-**

An hour later, after the impromptu photo session with other volunteers and a small meal, "Davey" Swenson, attired in a lion costume, entered the small dining alcove. "Hey, you two, I have a surprise."

"A surprise?" Nyota giggled at his costume. "Mr. Swenson, today has been nothing but surprises!"

"Indeed," said Spock flatly.

Swenson laughed. "But I think you're going to like this one." He turned his head and spoke to someone around the corner. "Come on, this way. They're right here."

Margaret and Allen poked their heads around the wall tentatively.

"Margaret! Allen!" exclaimed Nyota. "When did you get here? How did you get out of the house?"

Margaret walked to them. "Nate just brought us over in his police cruiser."

"Yeah, right after Commander Nguyen called and told us to stop egging on the paparazzi. He was pretty insistent about it. He said we were 'shaking a hive of bees,'" Allen said. "Ruined all my fun."

"You can blame Janelle for that," said Margaret. "She started panicking after I told her what was going on and ran off to find Commander Nguyen. Now they've got the folks at Starfleet HQ and Mayo issuing press statements left and right."

"Yes, we really messed up," sighed Nyota, looking at Spock.

Spock, who made so few mistakes in his life, nodded slightly in agreement.

"Don't worry, it'll be all right," Allen stated. "The family is on notice, and that Nguyen seems like he's getting the whole media thing under control. It works out better this way anyway," he said with a glint in his eye. "Now I don't have to miss my nephew's first trick-or-treat!"

Spock tilted his head forward and stared at Allen, eyebrow raised.

 _Swat!_ Margaret's hand playfully connected with Allen's bicep. "Allen, stop it! Hasn't he had enough excitement today?"

Allen rubbed the new sore spot on his arm. "Hey, can't I play the proud uncle just this once?"

"How about we get these young folks situated and find our places in line," Swenson broke in, laughing, trying to prevent the outbreak of war. "They're starting to call people over."

Janelle and Amy were already collecting people from the auditorium and assigning places in line. There were 25 groups, each with two baskets of giveaways—one a confection, the other a small toy or amusement. Spock, Nyota, Swenson, and Allen (who insisted on participating) were Group #17. Swenson carried a basket of chocolate favors and handed Allen the basket of glow balls. Margaret volunteered to stay behind and help Amy with the logistics of maintaining event traffic flow.

"Have you ever done anything like this?" Allen asked his nephew as they waited their turn in line for decontamination. Spock shook his head. Allen grinned. "Well, nothing like diving in head-first."

 _Diving in head-first._ Spock understood the idiom. "Nyota told me to 'just go with it,'" he stated innocently.

"I can't wait to see that," Allen teased.

"Next!" said the medical technician at front table before Spock could reply.

Spock stepped forward, and the technician invited him to step inside a booth. With the push of a button, a blue glow surrounded Spock for a half-second. With the process complete, Spock exited and stepped toward the entrance to the children's ward and waited for the rest of his party. Allen came next, then Nyota, and finally Swenson.

PADD in hand, Swenson lead the group to the first stop. Group #16 was still in the room visiting, so the members of Group #17 waited quietly in the corridor until it was their turn.

Surreal. This human word was only term that S'chn T'gai Spock of Vulcan, first officer and science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise, could apply to this situation. When he had awakened this morning, he never could have predicted that, 7.4 hours later, he would be preparing to meet children in a hospital accompanied by his mother's old friend attired in a lion costume at a Halloween-themed event. Such "twists and turns of life," as Amanda had called them, had replaced his more ordered existence during the past year.

Allen and Swenson struck up a quiet conversation, catching up on old times. Nyota leaned over and whispered, "We're almost up. Are you OK with this?"

Spock decided that, for now, he was "OK" with it. In this, he had the support from his family, from Nyota, and, oddly, even from Starfleet through Commander Nguyen's efforts. "Yes, I believe that I am," he said, as he watched Group #16 exit.

Swenson walked into the room first. The rest waited outside in the hallway as they listened to him. "Hello, I'm David. Are you Annika?"

"Yes!" replied a high-pitched voice.

"My friends Nyota, Spock, and Allen are with me. Would you like to meet them?"

Nyota, Spock, and Allen waited to be invited into the room, as was the procedure. Patients and their parents were always asked their permission, just in case the patient was getting too tired or too overwhelmed for more visitors.

"Oh, Honey, I think you want to meet them," encouraged a feminine voice.

"Daddy would like to meet them," said a masculine voice. "Will you say 'yes' so Daddy can meet them?"

"OK!" said Annika.

Swenson turned to the doorway and motioned them in. Nyota entered first with a big smile on her face. Spock and Allen followed.

The little girl, who appeared to be 6 Terran years old, sat up excited in her inclined bed, her face beaming despite the tubes running into various ports on her body. She took in a deep breath in disbelief, then blurted, "Mommy, Mommy, a Vulcan! See! See! OH!" She clapped her hands together, hardly able to contain herself.

Spock stopped and stood. Never had anyone shown such excitement at seeing him before. He was usually the object of curiosity or derision, not unrestrained glee. He was not sure what to say or do. Nyota, Allen, and Swenson laughed. The girl's parents, wide smiles on their faces, seemed amused as well.

"Yes, Anni, I see," said her mother. "This is Commander Spock. Remember, from the news? He saved the whole world. And look, this is Lieutenant Uhura. She helped save the world, too."

"You're pretty!" Annika said to Nyota. "You're pretty, too!" she said, pointing at Spock.

What should he say? Spock had no protocol to follow. How would his father have handled this situation? His eyes widened slightly, and he looked to Allen for some guidance. Unfortunately Allen, no help at all, was trying to stifle a guffaw. Swenson simply grinned.

"Why thank you, Miss Annika," Nyota replied, stooping next to the girl's side, trying to save Spock from some embarrassment. "You are a pretty young woman yourself. Are you enjoying your Halloween?"

"Yes! I love trick-or-treating! Do you like trick-or-treating, C'mander Spock?" The little girl was fixated, her hazel eyes big and round.

Spock decided that the right course was to simply answer the girl's question. He walked to Nyota's side in front of the girl. "I do not know. I have never gone 'trick-or-treating,' Miss Annika."

"Never in your whole life?" she asked incredulously.

"Never," Spock replied gently. "It is not a Vulcan custom."

"This is his and Lieutenant Uhura's first Halloween," said Allen, deciding to help out before the girl's exuberance overwhelmed his poor nephew. "Maybe you can show them how to trick-or-treat. Can you do that?"

"OK!" said the girl.

Annika's mother took the girl's trick-or-treat bag from the nightstand and handed it to her daughter. "Show them how…." Her heart warmed at the idea that her daughter would be teaching two of the Federation's most distinguished citizens about Halloween.

Annika held her bag in the air, parted the sides to open it wide, and boisterously said, "Trick or Treat!"

Allen threw in a glow ball.

The girl smiled. "Thank you!"

"Can you do it one more time?" Swenson asked, picking a couple selections from his basket.

"Trick or Treat!"

Swenson dropped in a couple pieces of candy.

"Thank you!"

"Very good!" said Swenson. He turned to Spock and Nyota. "Do you think you have the hang of it?"

"I do believe so," Spock replied. "Thank you for your proficient demonstration, Miss Annika," he bowed slightly.

Annika's father leaned over her, his eyes gratefully meeting Spock and Nyota's as he looked up briefly before returning his attention to his daughter. "What do you say, Anni?"

"You're welcome!" she said.

"Well, it's time for us to get going," Swenson prompted as the alarm on his PADD went off. "Have a great Halloween, everyone."

"You, too!" Annika said. The girl seemed to have an endless well of enthusiasm. Fortunately there were several groups behind them for her to meet and expend some more energy.

"Thank you," said the father. "Commander, Lieutenant, thank you… _for everything_."

"Yes, thank you, _thank you_ ," said the mother.

"We come to serve," said Spock, resorting to a practiced Vulcan phrase. He was rarely sure how to respond to extreme displays of gratitude from Terra's citizens, even after all these months.

"You are welcome," said Nyota. "Take care…Bye, Miss Annika!"

"Bye!"

The group exited the room and started toward its next destination.

"That went quite well," said Swenson.

"That was fun," said Nyota. "I'm glad we came."

"So am I," said Swenson. "You two are naturals. I think Miss Annika is going to be talking about you for a month."

"I think Spock has a new admirer," Allen teased.

"Allen, really," said Spock, looking skyward.

Nyota laughed. "Annika was rather taken with you…and so was her mom." Nyota looked down the hallway; there was no one but their small group present. She brushed his hand. _You handsome thing, I always knew you were a charmer._

She grinned. He tried to maintain Vulcan decorum.

"All right, stop it!" Allen knew that Nyota had sent Spock a mushy telepathic thought.

"What do you mean 'stop it,' Allen? You started it," said Swenson. "Am I going to have to get Margaret to swat you again?"

"I've been swatted so many times I'm surprised that I still have an arm," Allen lamented melodramatically.

Spock looked at his uncle, adopted a contemplative expression, then slowly rose an eyebrow.

"What?!" Allen asked, wondering what smartass thing his nephew was going to say.

Spock leaned back a bit, obviously making a mental decision. "I have no comment on the matter," he said finally.

"Oh, I bet you don't…"

"Sh-sh-sh!" Nyota waved her hands. "Room 310 is right there!"

Confirming their destination and patient name, Swenson prepared to greet their next trick-or-treater.…


	29. Fulfillment

Five sets of brown eyes flew wide open at the sight of the latest visitors. A cardiac monitor's beeping frequency increased 12.4 percent. Except for the nurse moving to turn down the monitor's volume, the room went silent.

"Momma!" finally said the 8-year-girl standing next to bed where her brother lay. "Is that really _her_?"

The 11-year-old boy in the bed, who had managed to act grown up in front of the preceding sixteen groups of visitors, could not help his own smile—as much as he could between labored breaths.

This was the fifteenth room on their route. Nyota and Spock had settled into the routine and the expected interactions. Most had focused first on Spock, understandable because of his appearance and direct role in saving Terra. But these children's attention was on Nyota.

"Go and find out, Baby," the mother laughed, her expression silently asking Nyota for her indulgence.

Shyly, the girl approach Nyota, who bent over to meet her at eye level.

"Are you Lieutenant Uhura?" she asked.

"Yes, I am," Nyota smiled. "What is your name?"

"Akeela!"

Swenson, Allen, and Spock remained quiet behind her. Spock, though he would not admit it consciously, was relieved at having the attention shift from him to her. Fortunately there was a time limit for each visit, as some of the trick-or-treaters as well as several parents had been extremely eager to meet him once he entered the room. A couple kids forgot the "never touch a Vulcan" rule and hugged him before he could diplomatically discourage it. Unused to attention and interaction at such a personal level, he gained a new respect for Sarek's ability to navigate similar situations. However, he found the children's honest reactions refreshing—there was no subterfuge there—and, after some mental preparation, the physical contact had not distressed him unduly. The emotional waves of the children's happiness and curiosity had been manageable, and, with Nyota's prompting, he returned their hugs gently, if only briefly, grateful that there were few witnesses to these encounters.

"I am very glad to meet you, Akeela." Nyota walked to the bed, making sure to greet the patient as well. "And what is your name?"

"…A-me-ry…," he breathed out as best he could.

The nurse punched in a change to a medication drip on a touchpad. "There, that should help you breathe better," she said to the boy, then nodded to Nyota to continue.

"Amery and Akeela…what fine names!" Nyota exclaimed, making a point to smile at the parents as she said this.

"They are our pride and joy," said the father. "Amery, tell Lieutenant Uhura what you want to do when you grow up."

"Star-ship…doc-tor…," the boy rasped.

"And you, Akeela…tell her!"

The girl stood up straight. "Communications officer!"

"Excellent goals!" Nyota smiled, then turned her head. "Don't you think so, Commander?"

Spock was getting used to her cues. It was time for him to say something. "Indeed, most commendable, Lieutenant," he agreed.

"That's all they talk about," the father said. "They heard you have to study hard to get into Starfleet Academy. Amery's ahead two grades, and Akeela's in the school's Andorian language immersion program. Noses to their PADDs, all the time! Once Amery gets over this lungworm, he'll be back at it. No two kids work harder than mine!" he said with pride.

Nyota smiled at the kids. "It sounds like you're doing what it takes. Just keep it up."

"Do you mind if I take a holopic?" the mother asked. "Of everyone? Is that's all right…?"

"Absolutely," Nyota said, motioning Spock over. "Commander…"

Spock took a place to Nyota's side and struck a practiced pose perfected after hours of Starfleet PR photo sessions. Nyota positioned Akeela in front, next to her brother's bed, then did the same. After three pictures, Nyota and Spock moved off to the side while Allen and Swenson engaged the children in the trick-or-treat ritual. The mother continued to snap more pictures as her children received their chocolate and glow balls.

Nyota approached the father, making conversation. "They're great kids. I hope that we see them on a starship someday."

"Our family has always served," the father said, "and we're glad the kids want to follow family tradition. Their uncle was on the _Yorktown_."

The _Yorktown_ , along with much of the fleet, had been destroyed during the Battle of Vulcan. "Oh, I'm so sorry. My condolences to your family," Nyota said.

"Yeah, my brother…it was hard," the man replied. "Not as hard, though, as it was for others…" He glanced toward Spock, who stood near the doorway watching Allen demonstrate how to activate the glow balls to the children. "These days we can't sit back. We have to be prepared, and we have to have the best people. For now, that's you. A few years from now, that will be my kids. We pray that Starfleet will only need them as explorers, not as soldiers."

Nyota nodded. "I'll join you in that prayer. Exploration is why I joined, why most of us did."

"Thank you for your service," he said, taking her hand and shaking it.

Spock's attention went from the Halloween interplay between Swenson, Allen, and the children to the man shaking Nyota's hand. His eyes met the man's.

"And thank you for your service, Sir," the man continued. "I am honored to meet you."

"We are honored to serve," said Spock, respectfully repeating the phrase for the fourteenth time in the past hour.

"Thank you!" Akeela exclaimed. She had finished receiving her Halloween favors and jumped next to her father's side, then faced Spock and, after a moment, calmed herself. " _Dif-tor heh smusma_ ," she said in a quietly reverent voice with as little inflection as she could manage, raising her hand in the Vulcan salute.

Akeela impressed Nyota with her quick transformation from excited Terran child to Vulcan composure. The child had been taught well, was gifted with languages, or both.

Her parents raised their own hands in the salute, as did Amery from his bed. Allen, Swenson, and Nyota were touched by their display of respect.

Though most would not have noticed it, Spock's eyes had softened a bit at their gesture, and he raised his own hand in return. " _Sochya eh dif_ ," he replied.

Swenson's PADD alarm went off. It was time to move on.

"Have a wonderful Halloween, everyone," Swenson said.

"Happy Halloween!" chorused the family, who had practiced it with so many groups before this one. Even Amery managed to say it all in one breath.

**-o0o-**

"So, where to next?" Allen asked once Group #17 was back in the hallway after their thirty-third patient visit. After two and a half hours of visits, they were all tired, but it was a rewarding kind of tired. There were only two rooms left on the route before the group proceeded to the auditorium for a bigger party for the ambulatory patients.

"Room 413," said Swenson. "It should be just around this corner…"

They found the room, but they also found the members of Group #16—two volunteers dressed as a frog and a princess as well as Wild Blister lead singer Azure Angel—standing outside.

"What's up?" Swenson asked the princess.

"The boy needs a blood draw, so we have to wait."

From inside the room, a child wailed.

"That doesn't sound good," said Angel. "Poor kid."

"This might end up being a short visit," said the princess.

A nurse exited the room. "You can go in now," he said, nodding to the frog.

The frog put on a positive face. "Let's cheer him up," she said brightly. She went in, asked for Group #16's permission to enter, then beckoned to the rest.

Group #17 waited patiently outside the door. Unfortunately the wails grew louder, despite Group #16's best efforts to change the child's mood. Two minutes later, Group #16 was out the door.

"I see that our work is cut out for us," Swenson said to the frog.

The frog shrugged. "He's about 4 years old, and I think it's getting to be nap time. Good luck," she said as her group started down the corridor to the next stop.

Swenson turned to the rest. "Ready?"

"I am, but I'm not sure our trick-or-treater is," said Allen, listening to the child's whimpering from the room.

"Hmmm, I'll try to tread lightly with this one," said Swenson. He entered the room, and the child's cries ceased for a moment. The rest of the group remained outside the door.

"Good afternoon…," Swenson said quietly. "Is it all right for trick-or-treat?"

"I think so," answered a female voice. "He just had a blood draw and is still a little upset."

"Awww, let's help him forget that," Swenson replied. "May I invite my friends in?"

"Oh, please!" pleaded the harried mother. "…Hey, Ben, look! A lion!"

Swenson beckoned the rest to come in. The child, in his mother's arms, nuzzled his face into her upper arm. He was shy, but curious, stealing surreptitious looks. Still overwhelmed and slightly confused, however, he burst into another bout of tears.

"Oh, my!" gasped the mother when she saw who their visitors were. "Oh…my…!"

Unfortunately the mother's excitement did not transfer to her child, who now wailed in a cycle of pure frustration and crabbiness. Some of the shrieks hurt Spock's ears. Even Allen winced.

"He needs a distraction," said Nyota, remembering how her mother quieted her younger cousins when they stayed at the Uhura home. "Would he like to hear a song?"

"No, I'm sorry, he's not a song kind of boy," the woman answered apologetically, grabbing a tissue to wipe the tears off his face.

Allen made a few funny faces, but Ben, who seemed determined to stay in his bad mood, howled even louder despite his mother's efforts to quiet him, burying his head deep into his mother's shoulder.

Spock looked at his uncle quizzically. Did Allen really think that contorting his face in that manner would do anything other than annoy the child? Swenson seemed to think so, as he now joined Allen in the endeavor. Nyota tried maintain a positive expression, even with her teeth held in a tight smile as her patience ebbed as another high scream overloaded her superior aural sensitivity.

"Bbbbbbbblllllllllllrrrrrrr," said Allen after another minute, blowing air through his lips, making odd noises to augment his expressions.

Unmoved and unimpressed, Ben's own face contorted into an even tighter mask of pure frustration.

At this, Spock's own patience began to ebb at the illogic of continuing this course augmented with ridiculous sound effects when the child, who was now shrieking even louder, clearly was not responding positively to the irritating stimuli.

Spock's encounters with young Terran children were few, and he had little experience to draw upon for calming one down with a tantrum in progress. So, what made them happy? He considered his observations during the few walks he had taken through San Francisco's tourist district and the children he had seen there. Street performers often engaged their attentions successfully with simple exercises of manual dexterity and hand-eye coordination. There was an 86.65 percent chance that this child would respond similarly.

Reaching into Allen's basket, he took out three balls before Allen could protest, activated them, then tossed up one ball into the air, then another, and finally the third until he had a 3-ball cascade pattern going.

Ben had just drawn in another breath ready to let out his loudest wail yet, eyes squinting in preparation when suddenly they widened. The three balls' glow and motion captivated him as Spock juggled before him. Instead of a wail, he exhaled a delighted squeal. His face no longer reflected torture, but delight.

Turning around to see what had grabbed the unhappy tot's attention, Allen and Swenson's mouths dropped. Nyota put her hand to her mouth in surprise. Ben's mother breathed out a sigh of relief as the hellchild transformed into her treasured son again.

"I didn't know you could do that, Commander," Nyota said slowly, smiling, noting the revelation of another of her beloved's hidden talents this week. First his culinary skills with pumpkin-based dishes, and now juggling…what else did he have hidden? A new sense of determination took over briefly as she considered ways to find out.

"It is a common exercise among Vulcan children to promote coordination and dexterity," Spock said matter-of-factly, as if he did this every day.

"You're telling me that all Vulcans can do this?" Allen asked, trying to mentally picture his brother-in-law, Sarek, doing the same. "Will wonders never cease?"

"Ben here seems to be enjoying it," said Nyota brightly, breaking from her plotting, refocusing Allen from teasing Spock to entertaining the child. "Do you like the glow balls, Ben?"

Ben, concentrating on the flying orbs, nodded, still somewhat shy as his eyes cleared of tears.

"Would you like one of your very own?" Allen asked.

Again, Ben nodded.

"Then let's get your trick-or-treat bag," Allen suggested.

Ben's mother picked up the trick-or-treat bag and held it out, as Ben seemed to have difficulty moving his hands to grip the sides. "What do you say?" Ben's mother asked.

"Trick or Treat," Ben said softly.

Allen canted his head toward Spock. "I think you should do the honors."

Spock sent one ball up, higher than the others, into a graceful arc that sent the orb right into the child's bag. The other two balls stopped neatly in his left hand, which he deactivated and put back into Allen's basket.

 _Show-off,_ Allen thought.

"Thank you," said Ben, unprompted. Things were looking up.

"You are welcome," Spock replied, satisfied that he had discovered a protocol that effectively dealt with an upset child. There was also an odd satisfaction that he, without Nyota's guidance this time, had found a solution to a challenging Terran social interaction, though he would never admit that.

Fortunately the child seemed as eager to receive the chocolate candy from the lion as Swenson repeated the ritual. His trauma now forgotten, Ben even smiled when a nurse snapped a holopic of the entire group. His mother was delighted by time Swenson's PADD alarm signaled that it was time to proceed to the next child, and the group exited with the humans' enthusiastic waves and a slight bow from the Vulcan.

"Mission accomplished!" Allen quipped once the group had left and was down the hallway out of hearing range.

"It's tough out here on the front lines," Swenson joked. "But fighting doom and gloom and crying children is our business."

"No doubt," said Allen, marveling at how much volume an upset child could generate.

As they approached the next room on their route, a nurse met them outside the door and stopped them before they could enter. "Hello," she said, taking them aside. "Before you decide to go in, I need to tell you about the patient."

This was different. In all the years he had done this, Swenson had never been met outside a patient's room like this. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"Well, yes and no…," she said. "Our patient's name is Marni, and we do not know how much longer she will be with us. The fact is, we are surprised that she is still conscious. Her parents, the Valdezes, are trying to give her the best quality of life for the time she has left, and they believe that letting her see the celebrities and volunteers is better than having her spend her last hours listening to monitors. She cannot speak, but it's OK to speak to her—she does follow you with her eyes."

The nurse continued. "This is upsetting to some volunteers, so we warn you beforehand so you can choose whether or not to go in. If you are not comfortable with this, please do not feel obligated or the least bit bad about not going in."

"I see," said Swenson, looking at the members of Group #17. Working at the hospital, he was used to dying patients, and he was at peace with assisting them. "I will go. If the rest of you want to wait out here…"

"No, I'll go with you," said Allen. "I'm not very interesting to look at, but I can lend my support."

"I will go, too," said Nyota. She had been through much worse. This was something that she could do.

Normally Spock would have preferred to leave the family attending a dying family member in privacy. Looking past the nurse and into the room, he saw the girl lying amidst several monitors with her parents both sitting at her bedside. For reasons he could not discern, something about the young girl, who appeared to be in her early teenaged years, was drawing him.

"I will accompany you also," he said despite his confusion.

"You can leave your baskets with me," said the nurse. "Go right in."

Swenson led the group in, keeping his eyes on the girl. "Hey, there. I'm David, and this is Allen. The good-looking folks behind us are Nyota and Spock. They're in Starfleet, but I'm sure you know that already. And you're Marni, yes?"

Nyota stepped up. "Hi, Marni, I'm so glad to meet you."

Just as the nurse said, Marni followed Swenson, then Nyota with her eyes as they spoke to her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Valdez?" Allen walked over and held out his hand. "We're pleased to meet you, too."

"Thank you for coming in to see our daughter," said Mrs. Valdez, shaking Allen's hand.

"We are honored to do so," said Allen.

Marni's eyes took in all of her visitors. Swenson's lion costume had grabbed her attention at first, then Nyota had engaged her. Her eyes darted over to watch Allen and her parents shake hands and exchange greetings. Then they stopped once they found Spock—and they stayed.

_Help me…_

Spock heard her voice in his mind, and his eyes met hers. Her stare was intense, and he matched that intensity in return. Her mental cry was unexpected. He reasserted his shields as the two continued to stare at one another, their exchange now somehow palpable to everyone else in the room.

"Commander?" It was Nyota. "Is everything all right?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Valdez, what is your daughter's psi rating?" Spock asked, keeping his eyes locked with the girl's

"She tested psi null," Mrs. Valdez said worriedly.

Marni's body was weakening—the monitor readings bore testament to that fact—yet her mental pull was strong. Spock closed his eyes. "Nevertheless, her mind reaches mine." He paused. "She calls for you."

"How can that be?" Mr. Valdez asked.

"I do not know."

Mr. Valdez turned to the girl. "Marni, what do you need?"

_Please…_

Marni's eye beckoned again, and Spock received a wave of desperation—the girl needed him, was pleading with him to come closer.

To understand what she wanted, he would have to touch her. The prospect was disconcerting, and Spock was reluctant. Except for Nyota, he was unaccustomed to touching anyone, and when he did, often it proved to be painful or disturbing. His grief and stress since the destruction of his home world had compromised his resistance to emotional overload. Though he had resolved several issues in the past few days, his mental disciplines remained unsettled as he continued to heal.

_Mommy, Daddy, please…_

Her desperation intensified as she called out to her parents, the same degree of desperation that he himself had felt during Vulcan's final moments as he tried to rescue his parents and the elders.

Mrs. Valdez looked down at her daughter, tears beginning to form. "I've felt that she's holding on, and she won't go."

So, her mother had sensed her emotional upset as well. Unless Marni could connect with her parents one last time, Spock believed the girl's katra would not depart in peace—for now it clung desperately to its host even as Spock sensed the greater universal force beginning to extend its tendrils, exerting more force to pull it away. If he touched her mind, perhaps he could bring her some relief.

 _No, this breach of privacy is not proper_ , his Vulcan reflexes admonished him. _These people are not of your clan. You are not a healer. Leave, and do not disgrace yourself or them!_

He paused again, catching himself, angry at the admonishment. The girl called for his help, even as her katra was being pulled from her. Could he refuse her request being made at the brink of her death? Something inside him refused to rest, and it burst into memory. His mother's words. _"If you can help, then you help,"_ she said.

A directive. A mission. An ethic. He reflected on those words and upon the woman who had spoken them. Even on a convoluted and unexpected path, today he had followed her footsteps here, participating in the acts of aid and comfort as she had, responding to her innate nature that Spock had always admired in her. Turning away now would dishonor her example, her dedication to the deeds she had performed here decades ago. She had been part of this place, as her father had been, as had many Grayson family members. He realized that all of this was a part of him—his Vulcan heritage demanded many things of him, but he had a heritage here, too.

Spock approached the girl and looked at her more closely. Her eyes looked less desperate, filled with a relieved hope as he came closer. The knowledge that humans saw things differently tempered his thoughts, extinguishing the restrictions of cultural upbringing. He made his decision.

"Miss Valdez, I can establish telepathic communication with you. Do you wish my assistance?" he asked her formally, as Vulcan standards required.

Another flicker of relief crossed the girl's expression. Spock recognized it, as did her parents.

He looked up at the Valdezes. "Physical contact is required. May I have your permission?"

"Will she be able to talk to you?" Mr. Valdez asked.

"I believe so."

He looked to his wife, who nodded, losing the couple of tears that had been brimming at the bottom of her eyes.

"It won't hurt?" he asked with some trepidation.

"No," Spock said.

"OK."

Allen and Swenson remained standing off to the side, fascinated. They did not know what to expect next. Allen had seen examples of telepathy between Sarek and Amanda, then Spock and Nyota. Something about this, though, felt different.

Nyota looked on, concerned, but did not interfere. She stepped back to give Spock more room.

Spock looked back down at the girl. "Relax. Open your thoughts," he said quietly, nearly at whisper level. He spread his fingers to touch the psi points at her temple and on her face, then closed his eyes in concentration. "My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts…"

Except for the quick clicks and occasional monitor beeps, the room was silent. The Valdezes stood close to one another, wordlessly trying to support each other as they waited.

Spock drew in a breath. " _…Mommy? Daddy?... please … What about Dweezil…take care?..._ " His voice was higher-pitched, and there was more inflection in it than usual.

The Valdezes looked at each other, surprised.

Mrs. Valdez snapped out of it first. "Yes, Sweetie, we're going to take good care of Dweezil. …" A sharp intake of breath, she gave up trying to contain the tears that had been running freely anyway despite all efforts to maintain composure.

"Dweezil?" Allen whispered to Swenson.

"Our cat," supplied Mr. Valdez, who had heard Allen's query, his own eyes filling with tears. "Don't worry, Baby. We will love him as much … as you do. He's going to be just fine."

Spock's eyes remained closed, his brows furrowed in concentration. " _…I don't want to go…_ "

"It's OK, Marni, it's OK," Mrs. Valdez cried. "It's time…"

"… _your daughter…can't leave you, not now… no…_ " Spock breathed out.

"You will always be our daughter," her mother's voice caught. "…Always…you will always…be…" She could not go on, clutching at her husband.

"Baby, we are so proud of you. Never forget that. You put up a good fight, a damn good fight," Mr. Valdez tried to soothe, his voice trembling. "We love you… Now… now it's time…to rest. Sweet dreams, Baby, sweet dreams…. We'll see you in Heaven." His throat constricted, and he could say no more as the tears ran down his own face in torrents.

Spock remained quiet for several seconds before gently pulling his hand from the girl's face and slowly opened his eyes. Marni's eyes opened halfway, she looked toward her parents for the last time, then closed them slowly. Her breathing shallowed as the monitor readings changed, beginning their slow descent.

"She wants you to hold her," Spock said calmly, his voice slightly rough. "Her mind has calmed. She will depart peacefully." He stepped back, then took in a few calming breaths to regain emotional equilibrium while the Valdezes each reached for a hand to comfort Marni on her final journey from consciousness.

Allen, Swenson, and Nyota stood still, respectfully. Although they normally would have left the family alone for such a private moment, it did not feel right to leave. The Valdezes seemed to draw strength from their presence. So they stood in silent witness, quiet support for the next six minutes as the machinery slowed, the clicks and beeps more infrequent until they trailed off into final stillness. With one quiet exhale, their Marni stilled with them.

**-o0o-**

Group #17 walked quietly toward the auditorium, their tour of patient rooms complete, each contemplating the quiet departure they had just witnessed.

The Valdezes had thanked them profusely, though restraining themselves in deference to Vulcan sensibilities when they approached Spock. Paled by the strain from the physical and emotional strain of telepathic contact, he graciously and respectfully accepted their gratitude, knowing that it was a necessary ritual for Terrans, and he wished them peace before leaving the room through the small group of doctors and nurses whose own tear-streaked faces indicated that they had also witnessed Marni's last moments from the doorway. They looked at him in awe as he strode from the room followed by the rest of the group.

After a couple minutes, Nyota noticed that Spock's color was beginning to improve. He had not retreated into a Vulcan shell, so she believed that he was not unduly upset. Unlike the rest of them, he seemed at peace.

They neared the auditorium entrance and the general Halloween party for the ambulatory kids. Before they got there, Nyota had to stop. She could not stand it any longer.

"Could we pull over for a second?" she asked Swenson.

"Do you need a moment?" he asked sympathetically.

"I need to make sure that we're all OK," she said. "Is there somewhere more private?"

Swenson saw an empty exam room. "Here," he ushered them in, closing the door behind them.

Spock looked at Nyota with a hint of concern.

" _Let me feel you,"_ she said in Vulcan.

" _Why?"_ Spock said.

" _I need to ascertain your mental state."_

He took both hands and pressed his forehead to hers as he briefly connected their thoughts. All she felt was serenity. It was not what Nyota expected, and she looked up at him for explanation as he separated consciousnesses.

"Everything all right?" Allen asked, feeling uneasy himself.

"I, I don't know," Nyota replied, somewhat upset. "Maybe this has affected me more than I know. Spock, how were you able to do that?"

His concern for her remained. "I do not understand."

"When we were standing there, watching her die, I couldn't help thinking about everyone we've seen die… It hit me harder than I expected. I thought I could handle it. How can you…?"

Spock could not express his sense of peace in words. He took her hands and pressed his forehead to hers again, drawing her into his decision, following a part of his mother's nature that he realized was part of his own, and the completion he felt as he honored Amanda's teachings and example. She felt his sense of place, a fulfillment of mission as he guided a young girl's katra to release itself to tranquility. His calm came less from an ordered mind, more from something else. It had felt right.

When Spock released her, Nyota understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vonda N. McIntyre, in her 1986 novel, "Enterprise: The First Adventure," suggested that juggling was a common activity among Vulcan children to promote hand-eye coordination. Made sense to me, so I gave nuSpock that skill as well.


	30. Warmth

The sun had set, and Margaret set out a few ceramic Halloween pumpkins, lighting the candles within and placing them in the living room windows to greet the neighborhood trick-or-treaters who would visit later. Allen, Spock, Nyota, Commander Ming Nguyen, and David Swenson watched her as they snacked on plates of small vegetarian sandwiches (except for the separate plate of salami sandwiches that Allen insisted upon), brownies, various Halloween-themed cookies and tarts that Janelle had sent home with them, and fruit with their tea.

Nguyen had joined the rest at the Markham-Grayson house to debrief Spock and Nyota after he himself had followed up with the press at the hospital, providing background details about the two younger officers and their appearance. He had been surprised when Margaret, apparently a genial host, invited him to remain for a snack before he beamed to San Francisco to accompany his own kids on their trick-or-treat outing. San Francisco was a couple time zones away, so he had time. Besides, he could not resist the opportunity to spend time with the commander's human family and satisfy his curiosity.

In this setting Nguyen's charges were more relaxed, having changed out of their uniforms and into civilian wear. The fatigue he had suspected in them was evident as they took places close to one other on the sofa. Uhura shocked Nguyen when she leaned back into the commander's shoulder and closed her eyes. Even more shocking, the commander let her, ignoring everyone else. Neither of them seemed to care that Nguyen was there. Perhaps that was a sign that they had, in fact, decided to trust him.

Or, maybe it was that they were worn out, physically and emotionally. Allen and Swenson had pulled Nguyen aside earlier and recounted Group #17's room visits, describing the positive interactions, the many hugs that Uhura gave and a couple that Spock endured graciously, Spock's unexpected juggling skills, and several heart-warming and heart-wrenching moments that stood out. The story of Marni Valdez's final moments made the biggest impression, and Nguyen looked at the Vulcan through new eyes. The dichotomy between Spock's strict emotional control and his demonstrated compassion was intriguing. The complex commander would prove to be an interesting client with unique opportunities and challenges. Nguyen found himself looking forward to them.

Uhura's breathing deepened, and Nguyen was certain she would be asleep within seconds. His attentions focused on her, Spock reached for a plate with an open-face hummus-tomato-alfalfa sprout sandwich on it.

"Nyota," he shook her gently, "please eat."

"Hmm, I'm too tired to eat," she said lazily, keeping her eyes closed. "I need a nap."

"Even so, you have not consumed anything since lunch."

"I'm OK. I've gone without food before."

"You do not need to do so at this time."

She remained silent, getting closer to dozing off. Spock, determined to get his way, took a new tack.

"Nyota…"

"Hmm?"

"Must I review the detrimental effects of low blood sugar and protein levels?"

She breathed out in a dramatic sigh. "You're going to lecture me until I take a bite, aren't you?" she teased.

"I would rather not. However, your cooperation in this matter is desired," he stated authoritatively.

Allen laughed. "C'mon, Nyota! It's been a long day, and I don't know if I can take technical nagging right now."

Nyota chuckled quietly, sitting up slowly. "You know, I don't think that I can, either." She turned her head groggily to look at Spock, and their eyes met. "OK, fine!" she said, lifting the sandwich from the plate and taking an exaggerated bite, all the while locking her eyes with his. Her challenging expression warned him that he would pay for his stubbornness somehow.

Spock pointedly handed her the plate, then picked up his own plate from the coffee table. He properly separated a section of a peanut butter sandwich with his fork, speared it, brought it to his mouth, and chewed in his most dignified manner.

Swenson smiled, wiping imaginary sweat from his brow. "Whew, I'm glad that's settled! I thought there was going to be a fight."

"Yeah," Allen agreed. "A real knock-down, drag-out!"

"Sh-sh-sh, be quiet, you two!" Margaret huffed through her own smile.

Nguyen shook his head at their interplay and found himself liking this family, including the cold, stiff, pain-in-the-butt commander, who had turned out to be none of these things and was proving that Nguyen's decision to pair him with the young lieutenant for future appearances was a good move. She really did bring him out in a way no one else did, and she had demonstrated that she could do so discreetly in public without revealing the nature of their real relationship.

Allen reached for the controller to turn up the holovid device's volume as the strains of a musical introduction announced the beginning of the evening news program. "There were enough reporters at the hospital. Think they'll cover our story?" he asked.

"They usually do," said Swenson, "about 15 seconds' worth." He turned to Nguyen, who had gone back to monitoring his PADD for the latest news reports. "Anything yet, Commander?"

"So far, from a Starfleet perspective, it's all positive," Nguyen reported.

 _Terra Today_ anchor Rik van der Kamp began his reports on the events of the day, trading off with co-anchor Vanessa Varaneesi. Between stories, they exchanged a few serious comments, but mostly happy, sing-song banter during the lighter features. Ten minutes into the broadcast, a Halloween graphic appeared next to the duo, with Varaneesi conversationally leading in…

" _Today, as many of you know, is Halloween, celebrated in many regions of our world. Rik, I understand that you volunteered at one very special celebration today, and you met some very interesting people."_

" _Yes, Vanessa, I did. In the heart of North America, I met young witches, ghosts, and goblins at the Mayo Clinic Children's Hospital annual patient Halloween party, and along the way, I had an unexpected honor…"_

The screen faded to scenes from the party in the auditorium with about 100 kids, approximately a third of them in wheelchairs, the rest on their own feet, some with monitoring devices on them. Several parents accompanied their children as they, too, appeared to be enjoying the party. Wandering through the shots, approximately 40 medical personnel supervised while a half-dozen costumed volunteers handed out favors. Van der Kamp's voice-over began.

" _Kids don't stop being kids just because they're in the hospital. So, for over the past 250 years, the staff of the Mayo Clinic Children's Hospital has hosted a Halloween party for patients, their parents, and their siblings so they don't miss trick-or-treat. The event includes games, entertainment, and visits with some of our world's biggest celebrities. This year, that included a rare personal appearance by Federation heroes Commander Spock and Lieutenant Nyota Uhura."_

In the shot were Spock and Nyota demonstrating the Vulcan salute to a group of children, flanked by Allen, Swenson, and Janelle.

The story continued, painting a nice picture of the pair plus all the other celebrities who made the event possible. Nguyen was pleased with the result. "Mr. Personality" had, indeed, returned, adopting his father's diplomatic demeanor as he played the part of a high-ranking ambassador's son. The man was a pro when he wanted to be, circulating among the party-goers and posing with Mayo VIPs and administrators for countless holopics. Uhura had played her part as well, acting as Spock's cultural interpreter while the pair interacted with the crowd.

Many patients and their parents interviewed at the party had been thrilled about discovering the family connections that the Vulcan hero had with the hospital and lifestyle diva Janelle Devereaux. Spock left the impression of a dutiful son honoring his mother and extended family's volunteerism. When van der Kamp asked why he was there, Spock had replied: _"One should honor family and tradition, should one not?"_ Nguyen knew that the quote would resonate with many viewers.

He also knew that Command would want to capitalize on the couple's popularity and Nguyen's new challenge would be to keep a few publicity-hungry admirals from abusing it. He resolved to protect his young officers from that.

He also resolved to pay more attention to office scuttlebutt about Starfleet romances from now on.

The three-minute news story was coming to an end as a parent, surrounded by his family, told van der Kamp: _"You have to have hope, even when it's hopeless. If Commander Spock had given up in the battle against Nero, we wouldn't be here. The odds were against him, but he won. He will inspire my son to never give up as he fights Bheren's disease. We thank the Mayo for this wonderful party and for the chance to meet him and Lieutenant Uhura. What a wonderful event!"_

 _Terra Today_ anchors Rik van der Kamp and Vanessa Varaneesi returned to the screen.

" _Sounds like you had a wonderful time,"_ said Varaneesi. _"And who would have guessed that Janelle Devereaux and Commander Spock were cousins?"_

" _That surprised everyone, Vanessa,"_ van der Kamp said. _"But you could see a family resemblance and connection between Devereaux and Spock there. And I guess that's what today was all about: making connections with people. It was a great way to spend Halloween."_

" _Awww, that's nice,"_ Varaneesi cooed. _"And speaking of nice…,"_ she began, transitioning into the next story.

Margaret signed. "That _was_ nice. You all would have made Amanda proud. I even think Dad would be proud."

"Your father, proud of something?" Allen asked.

"He was dedicated to that place and his patients, and you know it!" Margaret stated, shaking her head. "I should start volunteering there again. At the very least, I'd see more of Janelle, Amy, and the rest of the family."

Swenson stood up. "Speaking of the 'rest of the family,' I should get going. My wife won't be too happy if she has to handle all the trick-or-treaters herself."

Nguyen also rose from his chair. "I should as well. My kids will be waiting. Dr. Markham, Ms. Grayson, I appreciate the hospitality…"

By this time, everyone else was standing to see the two guests to the door.

Margaret reached to shake Nguyen's hand. "Thank you so much for all your help. I don't know what we all would have done without you!"

"All in a day's work, I'm happy to have helped," said Nguyen. He turned to Spock and Nyota. "Now, I gave you the beam-out codes for when you leave tomorrow, correct?"

"You have," Spock replied.

"You're not leaving by shuttle?" Allen asked.

"No, they cannot," said Nguyen. "Because of heightened interest in the commander and lieutenant, Command has authorized the use of transporters for their immediate transportation needs. It's a security precaution."

Transporters, being high-energy and expensive options, were rarely used by civilians and never more than necessary by Starfleet personnel, which was why Spock and Nyota had traveled to Rochester via shuttle in the first place.

"A precaution, like all those security guards outside?" Allen canted his head toward the door.

Though Spock was technically Starfleet, Nguyen used Spock's status as an ambassador's family member to implement diplomatic laws that restricted unauthorized holography of him in private settings. Outside the home, in place of the Rochester law enforcement officers, Starfleet security personnel stationed themselves at various vantage points, a couple of them dressed in Halloween cowboy costumes to blend in with the neighborhood's activity, others hidden strategically.

"They're keeping the press off the front lawn, aren't they, Allen?" Margaret quipped.

"No need for concern; they won't scare away your trick-or-treaters. They've been instructed to keep a low profile," said Nguyen. "Now, if either of you need a skimmer," he told Spock and Nyota, "you have authorization to call one up from Riverside. They'll have one to you in 15 minutes. In fact, for your protection, we insist on it. Security will escort you anywhere you need to go. Understood?"

"Understood," Spock acknowledged. It was a logical precaution. Starfleet skimmers were outfitted with security features that others did not have. He was not pleased that he and Nyota would require an escort, however.

"Good. Enjoy the rest of your leave. Mr. Swenson, it's also been a pleasure," he said, shaking hands with the family's old friend.

"It has been quite an experience," Swenson grinned. "Good luck, Commander."

Nguyen nodded and walked out the door, closing it behind him. After some consultation with the security guards, he beamed back to San Franciso, satisfied with the day's outcome.

In the meantime, Swenson exchanged hugs with Margaret, Allen, and Nyota. He nodded to Spock. "Now, we're going to keep in touch, Young Man?"

"We shall," Spock said. It was strange for him to agree to further contact with someone he had known for just a few days. Swenson, though, had proven himself as a friend, advocate, and guide. Spock trusted him. Amanda had chosen well.

"And you, Young Lady?"

Nyota giggled. "I'd love to!" She ran forward and hugged him again. "You have been our knight in shining armor," she half-joked, then became more serious as she hugged him tighter. "How can we ever thank you enough?"

Swenson blushed. He was going to miss these two. "Just take care of yourselves out there, all right?" he answered, trying not to tear up. Before his eyes betrayed him, he broke the hug, smiled at the younger people again, and opened the front door. "Godspeed to you," he said as he took his leave, nodding to Margaret and Allen, and walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

The four returned to their former places in the living room. Spock, still hungry, reached for the serving tongs and deposited a couple more sections of fruit on his plate. As Nyota resettled herself onto the sofa, Spock nonchalantly positioned the tongs over a brownie, making moves to pick it up.

Allen swore to himself that he saw a mischievous glint in his nephew's eye.

"Spock! What are you doing?" Nyota exclaimed the second she saw the tongs hovering over the chocolate treat.

The tongs descended onto a berry cheese tart next to the brownie instead. "I beg your pardon?" he asked innocently.

Nyota realized the joke was on her and rolled her eyes while Allen and Margaret broke out in laughter. She had to be tired if she fell for this gag. Spock also had to be tired if he had succumbed to the temptation to tease her with such a stupid prank in the first place.

Allen sat back, still amused, noting the difference between the stiff, formal officer who had arrived here and the more confident young person who sat before him now. He still had a Vulcan's innate formality, but Allen had learned to see the subtle clues hidden beneath Spock's surface and had observed a transformation in his nephew over the week. Allen suspected that he and Margaret had learned as much about Spock as Spock was learning about his mother's family and, to some degree, himself. It had turned out to be something that they all had needed as they grieved Amanda's death and tried to move on.

"Anyone want more tea?" Margaret asked. "This pot's empty."

"Yes, please," said Spock. "Let me assist you."

"Oh, that's not really necessary," said Margaret.

"Pffft!" Nyota blew in exasperation. "This is his not-so-unobvious way of getting away before he incurs my wrath and fury."

Margaret laughed at the younger woman's spirit and took mock pity on her nephew. "Very well, Spock. You're saved for the moment."

"I do not understand," Spock stated, maintaining his façade of innocence while Nyota tried not to break out laughing as she glared at him.

"Understand or not, come with me, and we'll pick out different tea blend."

Spock picked up the tea tray and followed Margaret into the kitchen before Nyota and Allen could launch any wisecracks. Margaret refilled the pot and stuck it in the warmer to heat. She also refilled the sugar bowl, placing a familiarly crafted, small spoon into the granules. It caught Spock's notice, and he sat down to examine it more closely.

"Margaret, is this a Shu-ran'ai spoon?"

"I'm not sure of the variety. It's a baby spoon as far as I know. Your mother sent it to me as a gift for Norah after she was born. After Norah grew out of it, it became Alaina's. I always thought it was lovely, so I use it in the sugar bowl. Is it significant somehow?"

"It is not noteworthy other than the geometric patterning on the stem that was typical of Vulcan's Shu-ran'ai region." Spock reflected briefly on the place now gone with his homeworld's destruction, then covered his lapse by supplying more information as he continued his examination of the utensil, moving it between his thumb and first two fingers. "It is a common size for dispensing condiments."

"Well, it also turned out to be the perfect size for babies' mouths," Margaret recalled. "My, that was so long ago. It's amazing how fast 30 years can go by. I feel like I just had Norah yesterday. Alaina's now 28, and you're how old? Is it 26?"

"In Terran years, 26.873."

Margaret sat down at the table. "Ah, well, 26.873 years ago, your mother called me. I remember how excited she was…"

**-o0o-**

_[26.873 years previously…]_

Margaret Grayson had just tucked in her girls for their afternoon nap when she heard the family sequence of chimes from the comm station. Could it be? Had it happened? Scrambling to the study, she looked at the screen with unrepressed anticipation.

_CommLink Requestor: Lady Amanda Grayson, ShiKahr, Vulcan_

Margaret quickly punched the "accept" button, impatient for the connection to complete. Her words were out of her mouth almost before Amanda's joyful face appeared on the screen.

"Amanda!...Am I an aunt?"

Her sister, though used to controlling facial expressions, burst into a wide smile before she could help herself. "You are!" Lifting a small bundle into her arms, she tilted her baby's face toward the screen.

The child, just days old, roused from his slumber by his mother's heightened emotional state, opened his thickly lashed eyelids to reveal deep, dark brown eyes, accented by dark, wispy upswept eyebrows and a few ebony black strands on top his head that gave every indication of thickening into a generous crown of hair. He was exotic and, to Margaret's eyes, beautiful. After their years of trying, Margaret hardly could believe that her sister and Sarek finally had the child they had worked so hard to have.

Amanda displayed him proudly. "Margaret, I'd like to introduce you to my son. This is Spock."

"Whoa! He's gorgeous! Oh, wow! Omigod! He's got Mom's eyes!"

"And Sarek's ears!" Amanda laughed as Margaret's joy infused her.

Margaret looked at the ceiling. "Obviously!" she huffed briefly, her ecstatic mood refusing to be contained. "Oooooo, what a cutie! Congratulations! I can't wait to tell Allen and the girls. How did your delivery go? Was it hard?"

Amanda's lips quirked at Margaret's frenetic barrage of comments and questions. "Technically, it was, as the midwives said, 'within normal parameters.' But if you ask me, I've never been so sore and worn out in my life. I can hardly move! I don't know what I'd do without our household staff. The healers tell me that I am recovering—again, that's 'technically.' Just give me a few more days…"

"I hear you," Margaret sympathized, being a veteran of two deliveries herself. "And is Sarek, er, 'recovering,' too? How's he like being a dad?"

"Sarek went into this already 'recovered,'" Amanda joked, as very few things ever disturbed her husband's outward calm. "However, he did say that he was 'pleased.'"

Margaret giggled. "Translated, that means he was doing handsprings in the front yard."

Still smiling, Amanda sighed as she adjusted Spock in her arms. "Though I wouldn't put it like that, in his own way, I know that he's as proud as any other father."

No matter how much she tried at this moment to follow her brother-in-law's example in control, Margaret could not stop herself from bouncing in her chair. "Oh, this is so great!" she sang. "I still can't believe I'm an auntie! OK, OK, now, tell me about…Spock? You can start with where that name came from. Is it common? I've been reading up on Vulcan culture, but I don't think I've come across that one before."

Amanda had expected this question. "Sarek chose it," she began her ready explanation. "'Spock' was one of the builders of Vulcan society, a uniter of clans and peoples according to Surak's philosophies and directives. Sarek thought it was appropriate for a child whose existence brings together two worlds. I don't know if it's common, but it fits, and Spock already seems recognize his own name."

As if on cue, the child moved his head to look toward his mother and gurgled a few quiet syllables, shocking his new aunt.

"No way!" Margaret exclaimed.

The timing of the child's vocalizations had to be coincidence. Vulcans were smart, but this was ridiculous.

"Perhaps I am only a proud mother speaking, but I can't help feeling that he knows who he is. Don't you, Spock?" Amanda softly stroked her son's face before returning her eyes to Margaret. "High marks for intelligence; high psionic abilities. Strong, healthy…." She looked back down at her son and a warmth suffused her face. For the moment, Amanda and her son seemed to be in their own world. "My baby boy is going to be something wonderful someday," Amanda spoke to him. "A diplomat like his father. A brilliant scientist. A talented artist like his aunt, perhaps. He'll be my joy and make me very, very proud."

Margaret swore that Amanda's love for her new son reached through the screen. She knew Vulcan families often shared telepathic bonds. Maybe that was what Margaret was witnessing?

Amanda drew in a sharp breath and looked up suddenly. "Oh, sorry, Margaret! I'm going to drive you crazy going on and on like that, and it's so unVulcan-like, too!"

Margaret laughed. "All right, I'll forgive you just this once. I think the new mom gets a free pass on baby bragging, and I promise that I won't tell Sarek on you! It'll be our secret!"

"Thank you for indulging my maternal emotionalism. I don't get much of an opportunity for that around here!"

The sisters shared a laugh.

Amanda readjusted Spock again and held him upright, his face against her shoulder. "Speaking of emotionalism, I'd better go. I still have to call Mom and Dad."

Margaret's heart leapt. "You mean, you called me first?"

"Of course I called you first!"

"I'm…oh, I don't know…surprised, and touched."

"Margaret, you have always been Sarek's and my biggest supporter, and you've always been honest without being judgmental. You're my sister and my best friend. I don't know what I would have done without you. Of course I called you first!"

"I'm glad that you know that I'm always here for you and Sarek, even if he never needs it," Margaret said. "And now I'll always be here for Spock, too. That's a promise."

"One never knows what the future will bring. I'm relieved to know that Spock has his aunt on Earth for him, too. Thank you, Margaret."

As she marveled at the boy in her sister's arms, Margaret suddenly felt a bond spring into place between herself and her new nephew. Despite outward appearances, to Margaret he could never be alien—he was a part of her dearly loved sister.

"Amanda, I will love him, always, as if he were one of my own."

**-o0o-**

Spock and Margaret were unusually quiet when they returned with the tea. Nyota would have worried about it if Spock had not seemed so at peace. Margaret seemed pleasantly content herself.

Again seated next to her, Spock poured Nyota a cup of tea before pouring his own and settling back into sofa's cushion. If he were a cat, Nyota imagined that he would be curled in her lap purring away. What had happened in the kitchen? She decided not to ask, reluctant to disturb this mood. Maybe he would tell her about it later.

Throughout the evening, they sat in the warm glow of the fire burning in the fireplace and the flickering light cast by the candles lit in the pumpkins and votives around the room. Several rounds of trick-or-treaters called at the door, undergoing the time-honored ritual as Allen and Margaret happily distributed treats while admiring or laughing at the many colorful costumes their visitors wore. They also proudly introduced some of their closer neighbors, like the Garvins, and their children to Spock and Nyota and thanked them for their patience with the ruckus the paparazzi caused and the added security measures. Most just waved their hands in the air and casually said, "No problem!" Margaret decided to throw a block party next spring to thank everyone for their understanding.

Finally, the neighborhood quieted as the last of the trick-or-treaters returned home. Margaret blew out the candles, and Allen cleared away the teapot and cups. After this long day, everyone agreed to call it an early night. Allen and Margaret said their "good nights" before disappearing down the hall into their room. Nyota walked up the stairs to begin her evening routine. Spock assured her that he would follow soon.

Alone, Spock walked into the study and gazed upon his and Amanda's portrait again, remembering the events of that time, now doing so with an adult perspective and Margaret's revelations. In the images Margaret had cast on canvas, Spock could now see how much his mother fought for him, took care of him, provided for him—loved him. He looked closer. In her eyes and the way she leaned over him, he sensed her absolute devotion surrounding his younger self. Even in death, through her wish to reunite her son with his Terran family, Spock realized that Amanda was still caring for him.

Perhaps it was his illogical human side given to a lapse of whimsy, maybe he underestimated the degree of his fatigue. In this instant, Spock allowed himself to capture the portrait's warm colors and feel their pleasant warmth within himself. He looked up into his mother's eyes and reached out to her in his thoughts.

" _Thank you, Mother…"_


	31. Gifts

In his room, Spock changed into his pajamas, carefully folding his clothes from the day and packing them into his duffle. His visit here was drawing to a close. Tomorrow he and Nyota would be leaving, so it made sense to begin transferring things from the closet to his luggage.

Ready to lie down at last, he pulled back the covers and looked at the empty bed. Though comfortable, it did not invite the comfort and rest he sought after this challenging and eventful day. Meditation did not hold any appeal either. He wanted to be elsewhere. Instead of climbing in, he pulled one of the pillows off the bed and tucked it against his side, turned off the light, and quietly closed his door behind him as he took the three steps to Nyota's door across the hallway. He tapped it quietly.

Four seconds later, the door opened. Nyota saw the pillow under his arm and smiled, glad that he, perhaps, had picked up her thoughts. Maybe he had, or maybe he simply needed what she did—the security of being together. The emotional roller coaster of the day had left her spent. Yes, she needed this. She motioned him in, closed the door, took the pillow from him, tossed it onto the bed, and walked into his arms.

Nice as being surrounded by his warmth was, nevertheless, after 30 seconds, she could not resist.

"You didn't have to bring your own pillow," she said, nuzzling against his chest, knowing what he would say about it.

His cheek was against her hair, and he was reluctant to pull away from its softness. "Indeed?" he asked quizzically, pulling back anyway. "My experience indicates that two are not enough to satisfy our requirements."

She shook her head, smirking, leading him to the bed. "Have it your way, Mister. But three pillows take up a lot of space. There may not be enough room left for you."

His eyes narrowed in what she had learned to read as playful indignation. "Then we shall most certainly dispense with them," he stated, throwing back the covers, lifting her, and setting her down on one side of the bed. "However, I do not believe that measure will be necessary," he whispered silkily in deeper, more sultry tones.

She sat up, astonished. He was not finished surprising her, however. With the confidence and decisiveness Nyota has not seen since before the Battle of Vulcan, instead of walking around to the other side, Spock climbed over her, wrapping his arms around her waist in the process, and pulled her down with him as his body settled into the other side of the bed. Somewhere in that motion he had managed to grab his pillow that she had thrown atop the covers and placed it against the headboard. She laughed and wondered, where had this playfulness come from? He pointedly shoved both of her pillows to her side. Then his mood changed as he slowly, carefully brought his hand behind her head, cradling it into his chest, stroking her hair, soothing her as he began to relax.

She relaxed with him. "Hmmm, this feels good," she purred. "OK, you can stay."

"I am gratified to hear that." Vulcan dignity remained intact as he lulled her with more soothing tones.

She melted into him, oddly comforted with the sensation of his rapid heartbeat against the side of his torso and the controlled Vulcan strength of his arms. The restful rhythm of his breathing lifted and lowered her like a cradle's rocking as she lay on his chest, finding pure contentment. "I'm glad Janelle and Nguyen saved us from 'outing' ourselves to the quadrant today. I get to keep you to myself for a while longer."

"Preserving privacy is always desirable," Spock said. "However, the probability is high that inadvertently we will be revealed at some point."

"Maybe people will be so sick of seeing us on the holovids that, when it happens, they won't care," Nyota sighed, then paused. "Ah, who am I kidding?"

After thinking about Nguyen's talk with them, each had reached the inescapable realization that they were—and would remain—subjects of public interest both individually and together. If they were not careful, they could be swept up by a media maelstrom. The prospect remained troublesome.

"When we left this house this morning, if Admiral Barnett himself had told me that, by the end of this day, we'd have to be protected by Starfleet PR, I would have told him he was crazy," she added, trailing over his neck and shoulder with her free hand.

One of Spock's eyebrows lifted minutely. "It was an unexpected development," he agreed.

"If we get into trouble, we have Janelle on our side. No one's going to mess with her."

"That would be unwise."

They lay silently for another minute, each lost in thoughts about this day and the days since their arrival here. Oh how far they had come this week!

"Spock?"

"Yes, Nyota?"

"Thank you for asking me to come here with you. Even with all the craziness, this visit has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life."

He hesitated briefly, then pulled her body up so that her head was closer to his and traced the contour of her brow before resting his fingers against her cheek. _"My honor is that thou walkest with me, thou keepest me, thou fillest me with thy essence, thy tranquility, thy strength,"_ he whispered, pulling phrases from a poem in Old High Vulcan that was one of her favorites.

A surge of elation filled her inside, and she looked up, reaching for his temple with her first two fingers in the Vulcan equivalent of a kiss. _"And I am thine, always, as thou wilt be mine."_

He inclined his head toward her. With one final quiet, reverent Terran-style kiss, he gently set her back into her place and pulled the covers over her before reaching over to turn off the old-fashioned lamp next to the bed. It was time to sleep.

She smiled as she began to drowse off in the darkness. "You have a nice family, _Ashayam_ , you really do."

"Yes, _k'diwa_ ," he answered, settling back into his pillow, "we do, indeed."

**-o0o-**

As usual, Spock woke up well before the day's first light. With as little motion as possible, he surveyed the back of his head, looking for his pillow. He carefully arose, trying not to disturb Nyota as he replaced the covers around her. As he suspected, her head rested on two pillows with his now clutched in her arms against her torso. He shook his head and silently slipped through the door and out into the hallway.

He went to his room to gather his clothes for the day, took his shower, got dressed, and gathered his things for departure. Being neat and orderly by nature, it did not take him more than five minutes to pack. When he reemerged from his bedroom, the scent of orange-spice tea wafted through the hallway. Going down the stairs and to the kitchen, he was not surprised to find Margaret already awake.

"I knew you would be up early," she said. "I was hoping that we could get some portrait time in before Allen and Nyota wake up."

Because of the paparazzi yesterday, Margaret was behind in her project. Spock realized that they would not get another opportunity for this. "That is agreeable," he said, lifting a mug and pouring himself some of the tea.

"Good," said Margaret, grabbing a plate of pastries. "Let's get to the studio before they find us."

They walked down the hallway to a door that led to the stairway to the studio over the garage. As soon as they were in the studio, Margaret turned on a few key lights, brought over a couple fill lights, and positioned them in front of a stool. With her arm extended, she invited Spock to sit, then seated herself in front of the covered easel that held her work-in-progress. She already had her paints and brushes out, ready to go.

"I have some detail work to do," she said, squirting a couple dabs of paint onto a palette. "There are those little nuances that you don't see until you get close to the end. Could you tilt your head down a bit? … Ah, yes, there!" She dipped a finer brush into one of the colors, examined the image on the canvas, then reached forward to make her modifications.

Spock sat quietly, patiently watching her work. Margaret thought that the nice thing about Vulcan models was that they did not squirm while they sat. She always suspected that Sarek somehow meditated some of his sitting time away. If that had not been the case, then he was the most patient portrait subject she had ever met. Spock was the same way.

"You know, Spock, after painting portraits of both your parents, and now painting this one of you, I really can see each of them in you…."

He continued to sit silently. If he had inherited elements of his parents' likenesses, it was not unexpected.

"…It's not just physical features," she added, as if she had read his thoughts. "It's in your posture anytime something new comes up, and it's in your eyes, that same drive and enthusiasm for learning that your mother had. I swear, you soak up information quicker than a sponge, just as she did."

Margaret wiped one brush, then changed to another. Spock remained steadfastly posed, though he followed her movements with his eyes.

"…And you're so patient, too!" she laughed. "She wasn't as good at sitting still as you are, but, in general, she was patient with most things. When you were helping Allen with that problem the other night, it was like watching Amanda tutor my friends in high school…. I enjoyed seeing that again."

Margaret set her brush down. "I will be sorry to see you and Nyota leave today. It may not have been how you wanted to spend your time off, but I thank you for coming anyway. I really needed this."

"You honor us," Spock replied quietly, actively maintaining the non-expression that Margaret saw through anyway. "And we are grateful. I…have learned much."

If his face had not given him away, his words had. Margaret painted a few more strokes, then dipped her brush in another color as she thought about the meaning behind them. He had needed this visit as well, and his subtle admission of that fact touched her deeply. He had reached his limit, however, becoming uncomfortable with the emotional tenor of the conversation. It was time to switch to a safer topic.

"You said that you would try to return for Alaina and Safi's wedding."

"Yes."

"And would you and Nyota be interested in returning here to visit us again?"

"Yes, that is desirable." He paused, then added, "I believe that Nyota will insist on it."

Margaret smiled. "I knew I liked her!" Then her inner imp took over. "But just to make sure, as an incentive to her, I'll make a deal with you: You buy her some more wine, and I'll let her soak in my tub again."

Both eyebrows shot up as Spock considered her teasing. "There is a 67.85 percent probability that she then would refuse to depart the premises."

Margaret howled in laughter at Spock's declaration. "Perhaps I should reconsider. I'm sure that Starfleet does not want to lose one of its best officers to my whirlpool tub."

He nodded. "The illogic of the situation would be most disturbing."

Margaret chuckled to herself some more as each brushstroke added more personality to image she created. He had inherited his mother's dry humor and, well beneath his carefully controlled exterior, her generous heart. She now saw that his initial formality had hidden a vulnerability, a fear that if he let anyone get close to him, he might be hurt.

Somehow, though, through their stories about Amanda and the experiences they shared this week, they all had grown close, and he was slowly opening up. Margaret looked forward to getting to know him even better on future visits. And she was sure that Nyota would always be there with him. From the moment she first met them, it was clear that they were bound to one another—if not telepathically yet, then by something nearly as strong just as Sarek and her sister had been.

She looked up once more before dipping her brush again. The young man before her was the best of both his worlds, every bit the gifted and delightful being who took center stage in Amanda's stories. Anyone who said that Vulcans were cold, unfeeling creatures had never met her nephew—or brother-in-law, for that matter. They had never seen their unwavering devotion to the people and causes in their lives. With so few Vulcans now, Margaret thought it was sad that people might never have the opportunity to witness that.

Perhaps Spock's appearance at the Mayo Children's Hospital and elsewhere would change perceptions and inspire Terrans and others throughout the Federation to provide the assistance the Vulcan colony needed. Perhaps now, after finding a part of his human half here, this child of two worlds would fulfill the destiny of his namesake and become the builder of connections to other worlds, the uniter that his Vulcan brethren needed once again to ensure their survival. Margaret fervently hoped so.

**-o0o-**

After a big brunch, Spock and Nyota gathered their belongings and returned to the main floor. Regrettably, it was time to say good-bye. The younger pair set their bags near the back door, then turned to their hosts.

"Well, I guess this is it," said Allen. Despite trying to keep it down, a lump formed in his throat anyway. He was honestly sorry to see them leave.

"Nyota…," Margaret said, reaching out to the young woman for a hug. Nyota opened her own arms and returned the hug, holding on longer than normal.

"I hate to say it," Nyota said, her voice increasing in pitch as her throat constricted, "but words are failing me. Some communications officer I am!"

"I think you're communicating just fine," returned Margaret, feeling Nyota's sincerity as their hug tightened. "You have no idea how much I'm going to miss you."

Margaret and Nyota broke their embrace, and Margaret looked up at Spock. "Come back safely."

"We shall," said Spock, watching Nyota as she now grabbed Allen in a vise-like hug.

"And it won't be another 18 years between visits?" Allen squeaked out as Nyota, in her enthusiasm, nearly constricted the air out of him before releasing him again. Starfleet sure was not lax in its physical conditioning, he thought.

"At this point, 17.756 years, to be exact," Spock replied. "No, it will not."

Allen tried rolling his eyes—the kid was such a smartass! He burst out laughing with Nyota and Margaret instead, already missing the banter. "Whatever, Spock, just come back soon. You always have a home here, anytime you want it."

Allen raised his hand, fingers parted in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper—and I mean it!"

A flicker of surprise crossed Spock's face as he raised his own hand in response. "Peace and long life…Allen, Margaret…."

As tempting as it was to stay, it was time to return to duty and the life that they had built. With one final nod, Spock and Nyota picked up their bags and walked to the center of the back yard where Spock pulled out a communicator and signaled for beam-out.

As their forms coalesced into swirls of light, Margaret and Allen waved sadly to them, but were glad knowing that the newly formed bonds of family would someday bring them back.

* * *

_**Epilogue** _

* * *

Lieutenant Nyota Uhura concentrated, monitoring the flow of data at her communications board, downloading the latest batch of crew mail. One line caught her eye—a message addressed to both Spock and her. She looked at the return path designator. It was from Margaret, and there was a sizable attachment to the communication. It had to be Spock's finished portrait.

Spock, at his own station, looked up at her, picking up on her excitement.

"Message from Margaret!" she mouthed silently at him.

With a slight rise of his eyebrow and a nod, he returned his attention to his own board, knowing exactly what they would be doing at shift end.

An hour and half later, they glanced conspiratorially at each other and walked toward the turbolift, but not before Kirk noticed. The captain leaned back in his chair, knowing that his officers had something planned, and sent his own eyebrows suggestively toward his hairline in question. Nyota stared back at Kirk, then turned on her heel and entered the turbolift as soon as it arrived, but not before rolling her eyes. Spock tilted his head in what Kirk had learned was the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug, and followed her, leaving Kirk laughing quietly to himself.

"Do you have to encourage him?" Nyota asked once the lift doors had shut.

"I do not know what you mean," Spock replied, his eyes open wide in all innocence.

"Hmph," she snorted. "Right. Let's stop and get a sandwich or something. I'm hungry."

"That would be welcome."

They stopped at the mess hall, quickly grabbed a couple sandwiches and drinks, and went to Spock's quarters. Once inside, they set down their meals, then Nyota went to the console and tapped in the message's access code. Spock moved the chair from the other side of his desk and joined her in front of the screen.

Immediately Margaret's face appeared, smiling and radiating the Grayson brand of warmth as always. "Hi, Spock! Hi, Nyota! I hope you're watching this message together. And if you're not, then stop now and don't watch the rest of this without the other. OK, are you both there?"

Spock and Nyota looked at each other. Yes, they were.

"Good," said Margaret's image. "Allen, Norah, Alaina, and Safi all send their love. Just wanted you to know that Alaina and Safi set their wedding date for September 8. I hope that you can come. I've said this a million times, I know, but we would so love to see you there, and so would everyone else. They haven't stopped talking about you since Janelle's party and can't wait to see you again.

"Speaking of Janelle, did you know that she just arranged for Starfleet Personnel Services to start sending her _Lifestyles_ program out on the entertainment feeds? I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but it's another entertainment option for everyone, I guess. Oh, and here's some more news: Janelle has been talking with Sarek. Her company will begin donating basic tools and crafting supplies to New Vulcan, things that they need and can use. She is launching a fund-raising campaign to ship it there. Amy's been busy setting up the foundation behind it. She is also starting work on an advanced degree in administration, so she's been busy.

"I am sure that you'd be interested to know that your visit to the hospital had quite the effect. The Board of Directors was so impressed and moved by your visit that the Mayo Foundation will begin sending supplies to New Vulcan in honor of your mother and grandfather. They are also working with Sarek on a 'loaned physician' program to send personnel there to help set up the hospital and clinics the colony needs."

Spock took in this information with interest. Yes, these things would help. Nyota touched his forearm and patted it happily a couple times. This was good news.

"All right, enough of my yacking," Margaret continued. "Now to the reason for this communiqué. I did finish your portrait, Spock, and I think it turned out beautifully. But after you left, I painted another one." She shook her head slightly, and her eyes looked upward and away. "I swear that I painted for 20 hours straight. I just couldn't stop. It was like it painted itself." Margaret's voice cracked slightly. "I've never had this happen before. I don't know how…."

Catching herself, Margaret forced herself to sit up straight, looked forward, and forced her voice to brighten, though she spoke more slowly. "Anyway, I hope it's not too forward, and I hope that it's OK. But, like I said, something in me had to paint it. I hope you like it.

"Now, stay safe…you'll be in our hearts and our minds until we see you again."

With one last smile to them, Margaret's image faded to black, leaving in her place two icons.

"I guess this is it," said Nyota. "The big reveal. Should I open the first one?"

Spock nodded. "Please proceed."

The first portrait showed Spock in a dignified pose, dressed in a formal Starfleet uniform. His expression, however, was not severe, as one might have expected. There was a hint of the Grayson warmth centered especially around his eyes, yet his expression was typical of the centered calm that most Vulcans carried. His posture, though not ramrod-straight, was upright indicating a poised, stalwart, and powerful individual with a strong presence. The slight tilt to his head, however, hinted at a deeper personality, and the image invited a closer look to get to know the exotic, mysterious person in the picture. One eyebrow was just the smallest fraction higher than its counterpart, adding to the subject's mystery.

Nyota gasped. "Oh, it's beautiful…"

Spock analyzed the image. Yes, it was his likeness. Margaret had done exemplary work in capturing him. He was trying to reconcile some of the cues that she included, however. Is this how and others saw him? He would have to meditate on the many nuances Margaret had included.

"…and so sexy!" Nyota finished.

"Nyota!"

The young woman laughed at her scandalized boyfriend. "Margaret did a wonderful job. I can't help it if I find the subject matter especially attractive!"

"Perhaps we should view the second selection," he suggested, obviously trying to change the subject.

Nyota smirked as she opened the second file. As the new image appeared, her smile immediately transformed into open-mouthed shock. "Omigod…," she barely breathed. "Oh, _Ashayam_ …"

The painting drew his breath as well.

In the center of the canvas he sat, this time attired in formal Vulcan robes. To his left sat Nyota, dressed similarly. Surrounding them were their own colors of warmth, companionship, and bonding. But light from a third figure, this one to his right, also illuminated the couple as she smiled upon them, a loving expression radiating from her features, especially the eyes that she shared with her son.

Nyota's hand reached for his. "Margaret felt this…? Is it a message?"

"Perhaps," Spock said softly, his Vulcan side analyzing the possibilities while his human side accepted the newly familiar warmth that grew inside him. Though his face remained as composed as any Vulcan's, he drew Nyota against his side. Margaret's paintings were more than portraits, they were, in many ways, insights into himself and the heritage that was Amanda's gift to him.

For the first time, Spock's many facets now blended into something that had never been there before—harmony.


End file.
